Stay or Leave
by bkgrl
Summary: Arya has come back from the House of Black and White to find Jon was never her brother, her siblings are actually alive and the Bolton's have claimed Robb's throne. Meanwhile Stannis hasn't given up on being king, the Tyrells are still just as devious as before and the Greyjoys fighting to be free, all while the White Walkers wait beyond the Wall, for the perfect time to attack.
1. From No One to Someone

**Author's Note: **_So this Story is wildly AU. I'm definitely coloring outside the lines here and taking a few liberties. **Warnings: **As stated in tags, this story will contain Major Character Deaths, Rape, Underage, Violence, Sexual Content, Strong Language, Disturbing situations, Incest. There are also spoilers for ADWDs. This story in the tradition of GRRM is NOT gum drops and rainbows. There is heavy dark content. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. There might be some OOC moments. _

**Summary: **_The story will start 6 years after the last events from ADWD. Some of the events will be the same, others will be different. The timeline for some of the major character events will be slower moving._

**_Changes_**_: Sansa: Never married Tyrion. Bran and Rickon: Are at the Wall hiding with Jon. Theon: has escaped Ramsay & Roose Bolton and made his way to the Iron Islands during Abel's murders. Roose Bolton: has taken Winterfell for his own **NOT **Ramsay. Walda died in child birth, so it is ROOSE not RAMSAY that has claimed to have married Arya Stark. Mance has not gone to Winterfell. Jon is not hiding out in an ice cave and has yet to be attacked. Dany: didn't marry Hizdahr. Aegon: hasn't made his way across the Narrow Sea. _

_GRRM owns everything and is a genius. _

_Thank you for reading! Enjoy!_

* * *

**Things that make us someone...**

**_Aegon_**

**_(11 years previous)_**

At two and ten he was already taller than Old Griff. Lean muscles had begun to fill out his frame, his jaw line becoming more pronounced. The gangly features of childhood slowly being shed.

"Must we do this?"

"Yes," Septa Lemore answered softly, dipping his head further back into the wash bowl, lathering in the last few drops of blue dye.

The Shy Maid tossed slightly causing water to splash out of the basin onto her beige linen garb.

"Will we ever get off this ship?"

Why he bothered to ask he didn't know. He hardly knew any different. His whole life had been spent on the Shy Maid, populated with Septa Lemore, Old Griff, Rolly and few others. When he was a child, he used to think it normal to live on water surrounded by adults two to three times his own age.

But times when they would dock, go upon shore for food or to camp intermittently, he was clued into the truth. Most didn't live as they did. He'd watch children in the streets, clinging to their parents, fighting with their siblings, feeling an instinctive pull to be like them. The sharp pang of jealousy for what they had. However, he knew there was a reason they were allowed to play in the market, not dye their hair or lie about their names. They were just children and he'd be a king.

"Will you ever stop asking so many questions?"

Popping his head up, blue droplets dripped down his neck onto his tunic. Even with a sour look on his face, Jon felt a sharp twinge when looking at the boy's expression. He looked so much like his father. In so many ways a mirror image of Rhaegar.

"Will you ever answer them?"

"Mayhaps if you ask the right questions." Pointing down to the map of Westeros he started, "House Tully, what are their words?"

"Family, Duty, Honor."

"And who is the head of their house?"

"Hoster Tulley."

"Seat?"

"Riverrun."

"And his children's names?"

"Lady Lysa and Lady Catelyn, Lord Edmure."

"To whom are they wed?"

"Lord Arryn of the Vale and Lord Eddark Stark of Winterfell."

"And what are the Stark's words?"

He faltered for a moment, although he knew the answer, "winter is coming," causing Jon Connington (Old Griff) to pause. As much as he tried to nullify the feelings that name produced, his efforts remained unsuccessful. The boy's curiosity and bitterness still lingering.

"And Lord Eddark Stark, his father's name?"

"Rickard Stark, burned to death by my grandfather Aerys II, for treason. His son Brandon Stark, strangled to death for treason. Benjen Stark, now First Ranger at the Wall and Eddark Stark, Lord of Winterfell. His daughter Lyanna Stark..." he stopped taking a brief moment, "never wed. Fled to the Tower of Joy, with my father. Where she died after the Battle of the Trident, in child birth."

"And her child?"

"My brother... believed to be alive, living in Winterfell as Jon Snow, Lord Stark's bastard."

"Her child," Jon corrected, "believed to be dead. May have possibly lived and perhaps is surviving in Winterfell as a base born child."

"Has lived," Aegon challenged, "Is Jon Snow, living in Winterfell."

Young Aegon's favorite argument, Jon Connington knew where this would lead. No matter how hard he tried to instill a sense of indifference in the boy, he refused to let it take. He was too passionate, much like his father. And too fixated on the idea of having a brother, to allow room for a reasonable discussion on the matter.

In an effort to change the subject, he attempted, "And your mother's House, House Martell?"

"Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken..." Aegon toweled the remnants of blue water from his hair, his gaze poignantly focused on the northern boarders drawn on the map. He'd heard the story hundreds of times. Listened to Old Griff attempt to dispassionately describe an entire series of events that lead him to this place: an orphan, exiled and on the run. But still he never tired of it. Reworking each piece continuously over in his mind. He had a brother. His name was Jon.

"And House Gre-"

"Did he love her?"

Looking up from the map, Jon answered, "Your father had a certain affection for your mother. They were fond of one another."

"No, I mean HER."

He must have subtly tried to ask this question close to a dozen times in his life and each time, Old Griff cautiously avoided answering.

Pulling a book from the stack, he flipped through the pages laying it open. After a few moments he looked up, feeling the boy's attention closely focused on him, waiting for his answer.

Sighing, he replied, "Love is for fools, boy. Remember that."

Septa Lemore, cleared her throat in the corner of the small cabin room, "And pride is for the wicked."

Eyeing the Septa, as she peered back down at her sowing, he continued, "I don't know if he was so much in love as bewitched by her. Your father was a good man. An honorable man. But what he did was foolish and careless. He had a duty…."

"To my mother?"

"Well, yes to your mother, but to his station, his principles. A man is nothing without his principles, you remember that."

"Did he love her?" Aegon repeated, more insistently.

Old Griff stopped, considering how likely it was he could again change the subject. Knowing full well that it was doubtful. If he avoided it today, the boy would ask tomorrow and the next day, along with everyone after. Until he finally got his answer. Aegon was nothing if not patient when need be and even more persistent.

"In the beginning, I couldn't tell you. But in the end… he must have."

"Why?"

"Only a fool in love would cause so much suffering without thought for the consequences."

Silence blanketed the room, Aegon lost in thoughts of Westeros, a place far away he might never see. A land that should be his. The family that he should have had and the idea that one mistake could have changed it all forever.

"What was she like?"

"Lyanna Stark? Wild, young, forbidden and dangerous…." His last few words ominous, hanging in the air, conjuring up images of some unearthly creature. Like the ones in fairytales and legends Old Griff used to tell him when he was still a small child.

"Enough of the House Stark. You need not know any more of them, except to stay away."

Jon Connington spoke of the old house as if it were a curse from the gods and all whom were born within its walls were poisonous.

"On to figures…."

Aegon knew not what to make of the House Stark. Surely Old Griff would not lie to him. Lyanna Stark must have been some type of witch to lure his father from his mother, family and birth right.

But Jon… he had to be different.

Aegon had a brother. His name Jon Snow. He was part Stark and he was alive. No one could tell him different.

* * *

**_Aegon and Dany_**

**_(3 years previous)_**

She looked so strikingly similar to him, that he was stunned.

"Prince Aegon, I meet you at last."

"As you."

Taking his seat next to Jon Connington, Aegon caught Jon's eyes, warning him to be careful. They'd come with a plan. One they had to be sure to not stray away from. To Aegon's relief, Daenery's Stormborn was just as beautiful as every rumor he had ever heard. He'd been preparing himself for this moment for close to two years, since her identity was confirmed.

He'd wed Daenery's Targaryen as their ancestors did. And together they would take back Westeros.

"What a pleasant surprise to finally meet my nephew. And to what do I owe this honor?"

"My Lady, we have come to speak to you of the future."

"Future? Mine or yours?" With an amused look on her face it was apparent that Daenerys was well aware of their quest before they arrived on her doorstep. Her attractive nephew had come for a wife, for dragons and for a kingdom.

Their relationship would be mutually beneficial, he needed her dragons and she needed to eliminate contenders. He was first in line before her. If they fought for the same throne they'd split their allies, not benefiting either of their interests.

"Both of ours," Aegon replied. "As you are aware, the war of Westeros has been raging for over nine years. Tommen Baratheon is born of incest, the Lannister's forces are divided, the northern kingdom is in ruin. House of Stark with no known living member. Renly Baratheon is dead and Stannis Baratheon cowers in the north."

When Daenerys failed to respond, Jon Connington interjected, "Khaleesi, Mother of Dragons, there is not a better time to strike for the Iron Throne. There is not a single force to stand against a real united army-"

"To stand against my army, my dragons."

"We also have our own men, Khaleesi." She had always wondered if he had lived, what Aegon would have looked like. He was so much more appealing than Viserys. And for a moment she felt a small wave of embarrassment for looking at him with such a discerning eye.

What should it matter if he was attractive or not?

Leaning forward, Aegon touched Dany's hand, "They are the children of our ancestors. There are three-"

"And there are two of us."

"So you have heard the prophecy?"

"Prophecy?"

"The prophecy of old, your brother believed it was written that when ice and fire met there would be a three headed dragon that staved off darkness of the never ending night. He believed his children would bring dragons back to Westeros."

Her dream from the House of the Undying.

"And now he is dead along with Viserys and only I have brought dragons back from extinction."

With her Khal gone, Daenerys Stormborn may still be the blood of the dragon but she was no longer a Khaleesi. Her bravado almost humorous. Here such a tiny woman attempted to command the room, talked as if she could conquer anywhere. But without her dragons, she wouldn't last a moment in battle. She was small, unskilled with blade, unknowledgeable in the art of warfare, the tongues of her own people, of Valeria, and more than likely the complex politics of Westeros.

She wasn't born to be a queen. She was born to be a vessel for Viserys. Where Aegon had been trained since childhood, Daenerys was only now beginning to play catch up.

Her pride, vastly outpacing her abilities, knowledge and political savvy.

"Yes, you have. But there are three dragons..."

"And only two of us still alive," motioning between herself and Aegon.

"No. There is a third. You have another nephew."

"Son of Viserys? I highly doubt that."

"No. Not son of Viserys, son of Rhaegar and Lyanna."

"Rhaegar never fathered a third child before he died."

How little she knew. Aegon wondered if Viserys had even bothered to educate her of the history of the rebellion before he passed.

"That's what you have been told. But it is not true. Rhaegar and Lyanna had a child, a child that Ned Stark took home to Winterfell and raised as a son."

"All the Starks are dead."

Patiently, Aegon continued, "All the Starks are presumed dead. The bastard son of Ned Stark, the true son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, Jon Snow, is reported to be alive. Taking the black and serving these past five years at The Wall."

"A third dragon…" Her voice trailed off as she looked into the distance, lost in her own thoughts.

"Yes Daenerys, a third dragon and a man of the north, a man of the Wall and the only living Stark, one of the oldest families of Westeros. The Starks have held their lands, their people and their forces for a thousand years."

"Until they died out like relics of The Wall, I do not need a history lesson from you, Jon Connington. I am well aware of the House of Stark and their place in history."

"Then you are aware that to take and hold Iron Throne you will need more than an army of soldiers and two dragons. You need a third, a prince of the people," Aegon replied.

Settling back in her seat, Dany was silent, considering his words before finally turning to Aegon, "Nephew, it is only you and I. We are the last of our House. Do you believe that this Jon Snow is a dragon?"

"I do, Daenerys. He is our third dragon and with him we will take back what was always ours."

"How do we know that Jon Snow will be compliant? How do we know that he is a true dragon?"

"Your brother told me, before his passing that Lyanna was with child. I have made inquiries over the years. He was raised a Stark bastard. Who else would help him avenge the death of his assumed father, his true father and his siblings? This man will hold no alliances with a family that killed both his natural born and foster family."

So caught up in the moment were they, that they had yet to address the other issue of their visit. The binding clause in the plan. This should be the moment where Aegon should say something. He could feel Jon Connington waiting for it, partially annoyed that he had bothered to elaborate on Jon Snow. Daenerys, not to his knowledge, was leaning forward expecting the proposal.

The words stuck in his mouth on the tip of his tongue. Something didn't feel right. She was beautiful, an asset and a better wife than enemy. Targaryens had been marrying brother to sister for generations. Had the Usurper never taken his father's throne, he and Daenerys likely would have wed. But he found himself unwilling to ask. Two years, building to this moment, knowing for as long as he could remember that he would marry Daenerys if she was indeed still alive and if not her another political marriage, Arianne Martell perhaps.

Something didn't feel right, for whatever reason he felt an unexplainable reservation. As if he should wait.

There would be plenty of time for proposals and marriage contracts.

"Will you join us Daenerys?"

After a long pause, she responded, "Yes. I will but Jon Snow must comply."

"I will go to him. I will speak to him myself."

"Bring him to the shores of the Narrow Sea and I will meet you with an army."

Jon Connington would curse his foster son afterward for failing to do as they planned.

"You should have never mentioned the bastard. You know not even if he is real. You should have asked for her hand as we discussed. She would have agreed. Daenerys Targaryen needs you just as much as you, her. Now you've sent yourself on a fruitless hunt while their power grows."

"I couldn't. It didn't feel right. I must find Jon first."

"And if you don't? If he is not your brother?"

"He is, I know it. I've seen it in my dreams."

"Dreams, things for fools and beggars."

He knew no matter what he said Aegon would not be swayed. Finally relenting, Old Griff embraced him hard enough to crack ribs. A fatherly gesture, as his child left for home, prepared for the future they'd been building to for years.

Aegon didn't know it then, but that would be the last time he talked to Jon Connington. A year later he succumbed to an illness he'd never revealed to him, he had.

If Aegon had known it was the last time, he may not have left. Torn between the family that he had made and the one that was always his.

In the years that followed after that moment, he'd always wish he'd stayed a little longer. Asked one more question. Spent a little more time with the man that raised him.

* * *

**_Arya_**

Usually they would go months without each other's company. In the five years since forsaking her old life and entering the House of Black and White, Arya had held on to little from before, except Needle, which she kept hidden and a few cherished childhood memories that she could not snuff from her mind. Jaqen was a bridge from her old life to new.

Tonight when he entered her room, as silent as a ghost, he caught her crouched in the corner. Dressed in night clothes, she diligently polished her sword. In the flickering of the dim light, Arya or No One, as she had been for years, smiled upon the familiar face.

"You've come for a visit?"

"I thought the girl would be interested in a spar, but it seems that will not happen."

Motioning to the stone bench across from her, No One answered, "Not this evening. An appointment awaits tomorrow."

Pulling a cloth from his own tunic, he sat and silently attended his own weapon. A long stretch of time passed in the silence of the room before No One started,"May I ask something of you?"

"The girl wishes to be relieved of the morrow's appointment?"

"No." Setting down her sword, the metal bounced off stone, the noise reverberating throughout the room.

"I am equipped to perform the duty assigned."

"The kill is not what you fear?"

"This is not my first."

"So young and already a professional?"

"I do not fear anything," she snapped.

In the years that Arya had lived in the House of Black and White she'd only begun to train as an assassin after three, learning to mix and use poisons, continuing her schooling on how to use a blade. Eventually culminating in how to kill.

Setting down his own weapon, she now had his full attention. "Then why would the girl move so gracelessly? Has your training been forgotten? A faceless man does not yell. His blade is his words. A faceless man does not make careless noise. Only lifeless bodies fall without care or grace."

"Jaqen ..." Arya attempted to make her voice sound as diplomatic as possible. A Faceless Man should not have fears or weaknesses: areas of inexperience or ignorance. She would be quick and to the point. She would not let herself be some pathetic girl who wished for soft words and an overly affectionate touch. It would be done and void of emotion.

"You have my full attention, No One. What is it that you wish of me?"

"I wish for you to lay with me. Take my maidenhead and let me be done with childhood."

The silence again stretched between them. Arya had expected some sort of reaction. She didn't know whether he was appalled, confused or hadn't heard her.

"I cannot go to a brothel and pretend to be a whore if I do not even know what it is like to lay with a man."

"But you will not lay with the body from which you will steal life."

"No, but to be No One, I need to have nothing that can be taken from me. It's the last thing l have to attach me to someone, whom is not No One and is of little importance to me anyhow."

"Then it will not matter whether it is present or not."

At five and ten Arya was a far cry from the boyish girl that Jaqen had smuggled from Harrenhal. Still small, her body had produced breasts and hips. Her facial features had softened with age. Her once pixie hair now scaled down her back.

However, in the House of Black and White she should not be a woman, or even a man. Still, Jaquen was keenly aware that No One was still someone. And although not a classic beauty, there was something undeniably comely about his friend.

"Jaqen, I ask you to do this as a favor. It will not be personal, only a favor."

Standing from his semi relaxed position he crossed the room and stopped before her. Gingerly, he reached out and caught the ends of her hair in between his thumb and forefinger. Leaning in, his lips were warm and inviting as his tongue opened her mouth.

Not quite understanding his intentions, she stood rigid until his tongue touched hers. Cautiously, as if experimenting, she rose on her toes to meet his mouth- her hands resting on his shoulders.

He broke their kiss, "It's nothing if not personal. I will not do as the woman requests."

Arya cocked to the side as her mouth started to formulate an argument.

"Jaqen, this will not-"

"I will not complete the woman's request tonight. To lose everything is only appealing to those who have something to lose. Once someone truly has nothing to lose, they will forever be lost. I will not take from you something which has value beyond your comprehension."

Confused, she questioned, "When I am finally a Faceless Man, would you then do me that favor?"

Turning as he approached the door, he looked back at No One, who in many ways had changed but ultimately still resembled the brave little girl he saved from Harrenhal.

"Yes. I would. But then you would never again be who you are still, Arya. And I fear I might want to be someone who I can never again be."

When he had spoken her name: the one her mother had given her, her father had called her. Brothers had once yelled and Sansa would whisper. He planted a seed doubt that could not be uprooted.

Her name would haunt her in the months to come, bringing her dreams at night, of running through the forests of Winterfell; searching for her pack. Memories, in the light of day would circle her consciousness driving her mad.

It wouldn't be until much later that Arya would understand what it meant to fear the loss of things that defined whom she was.

When Arya Stark left the House of Black and White a year later, she was sure that she would never see Jaqen again. Leaning against dock post, waiting to board a ship back to Westeros, a whisper found her ear, "The woman has found that she is someone?"

Arya knew the voice before she turned to see the mask.

"Will I ever know who you really are?"

Resting a friendly hand on her shoulder, the unfamiliar face answered in a familiar voice, "Who I once was, is not important, Arya Stark. You have found that you have something to lose?"

"I have to return. I'm all that is left. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

"And so there shall be."

Arya wished that she could hug her teacher and friend; tell him goodbye, but did not want to share that moment with a stranger's face.

"Can I see your true face?"

Leaning in, Jaqen gave her a soft, last, brief kiss and answered, "You already have in too many ways."

With the boarding call, Arya turned to say goodbye to Jaqen, for what she assumed would be the last time, only to find that she was alone on the dock.

* * *

**_Jon_**

Icy wind beat against his face, as he looked out over the Wall into nothingness. What a child he had been seven years ago, to think of this place as an adventure. Only later to discover it a prison. And now, to know it as home.

The only home he'd now ever know. With Stannis's troops milling around Castle Black the place moved like an uneasy beast. Waiting for something to erupt and everything to be thrown into chaos. Fearing what darkness they all knew lay somewhere hidden beyond this Wall.

He'd come up here to be alone. To think. To speak to Ned. Ask him all the things he wished he could have before and now would never know. To receive his good council, even if he could not hear or answer.

What should he do with the Wildlings? The simmering of tensions that threatened to boil over were more than Stannis Baratheon. The men hated the Wildlings. Considered them less than human, would gladly leave them as bate for whatever stalked the Haunted Forest.

They called him a fool, a traitor for considering their passage. And maybe they were right but Jon didn't care. The souls of too many already weighing on him in dream and waking.

Robb, Sansa, Arya….

He should have fought harder. He should have risked death and rode to meet Robb in the Riverlands. He should have gone south for Sansa, taken Joffery's head himself.

He should have saved Arya….

He hadn't said her name out loud in five years. Like it was a curse, that if spoken would come true. She'd really be gone.

At times, if he stood up here long enough, till the moisture in his eyes felt like glass, the blood in his veins slowing to a slow crawl, his ears deaf from the wind, he could see her. Just beyond the dark towers of Castle Black, her spindly body scrambling through the snow, screaming and laughing. Calling out to him.

And sometimes it was different. Jon would see her in the distance, a fuzzy dark dot, making her slow approach on foot until finally he could make her out. Her face covered in furs, struggling through the snow, edging closer to the black castle with fierce determination against the wind. Looking up at the last moment, north beyond the Castle Black and warmth, to him. Her grey eyes alive and bright, clear even from miles away.

It was so real, it hurt. He'd blink until his eyes were sore, sure that this time it had happened, she'd finally come. Arya had found her way north to the Wall and safety. Only to always discover the truth.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he'd whisper into the winds that whipped past him, plunging over the Wall.

If he had it to do over again….


	2. Your Ghost

**_Gendry_**

When his eyes fell upon the Lady Stoneheart standing in Hollow Hill's great hall, he tried to not focus on the puckering across her throat and empty cold eyes. That this woman could have once been Arya's mother was unthinkable.

"Come forward Ser Gendry."

Standing next to Lady Stoneheart, Thoros of Myr handed Gendry a rolled piece of parchment.

"What is this?"

Covered in sweat and grime, Gendry had never received a message from anyone before. He wasn't important enough for anyone to waste a raven.

"Read it."

Unrolling the paper, Gendry carefully read the thinly scrawled script:

**_Lady Stoneheart,_**

**_I have legitimized Ser Gendry Waters, now Gendry Baratheon, as being the only living heir to my brother Robert Baratheon, after the untimely death of Edric Storm. As Robert's heir, he will be given Storm's End. _**

**_Acting as patriarch of the House Baratheon, I promise Gendry in marriage to your eldest daughter. Upon uniting our houses, I will pledge my men in recovering Winterfell from Roose Bolton. In return, I request that any from House Tully and the remaining bannermen that are loyal to the House Stark will lend their support in my claim for the Iron Throne. This legitimization is made with the understanding that Gendry will not seek his claim to the Iron Throne. As you have made it clear these are not his intention, I will expect to see both you and my nephew in White Harbor for the union of our houses. _**

**_Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone_**

In the weeks since Thoros and Lady Stoneheart had first told Gendry the truth, he had yet to really wrap his mind around the fact that he had once had a father. Furthermore, that his father had been Robert Baratheon.

"You understand what is to happen? You are now the legitimate son and only heir of King Robert Baratheon. Gods rest his soul. You have responsibilities now."

Looking up from the scroll, Gendry tried to think of something intelligible to say, "I thank you for this."

He knew it was only appropriate to thank them both for making an effort to legitimize him, even if he didn't need it. But this, a political marriage, to be sold like a cow in pasture, was something he did not want. Did he not join the Brother's to have some control over his own destiny?

"I fear however that it would only bring dishonor to the House of Stark to marry their daughter to a bastard."

"You are no longer a bastard."

Catching Lady Stoneheart's cold eyes, Gendry searched for some type of maternal approval, opinion, feelings or even reaction. There was none.

"You will do this Gendry because it is the honorable thing to do and because Stannis Baratheon has already made arrangements. He will not break a marriage contract," his last words decidedly threatening in their nature.

Gendry searched for the words to explain to them both that he was not the right man. At two and twenty he was still no one, a bastard. A name or a title, a Lordship, could not change that. He wanted to explain to them that he was not fit to marry some woman that he had never met. In order to preserve the honor of a family he never knew. To win an uncle he had never seen, a crown, which he did not care about.

"Come forward." The voice was cracked, barely audible and harsh.

Hesitantly he walked toward Lady Stoneheart.

"I understand that you were acquaintances with Lady Arya?"

"Yes, M' Lady. We traveled together from Harrenhal."

Stepping away from the men that were gathered in the hall, Gendry followed her as she left the structure and headed towards the woods. After moments passed she continued, "Some have said that you looked upon Arya as a sister?"

Gendry didn't know how to respond to this. Had he saw Arya as a sister? He had tried over the past six years to define the feelings that he had for the child: the girl that visited him in his dreams often, filling his empty thoughts. He had never forgiven himself for not saving from a horrid death that day in the House of Frey.

"Yes M'Lady."

Lady Stoneheart had never spoken this way about her children. She hadn't spoken with soft sentiment ever. Any words from her mouth, dripped with venomous hate.

"Arya was a willful child, impossible to control. She was always more of a boy than a lady."

"Aye, that she was."

"If there was one thing that Arya loved more than anything, it was being a Stark. She loved her brothers and sisters. She loved Winterfell. If she were still alive, there would be nowhere else that she would be."

Gendry was not naïve to the fact that Lady Stoneheart, in her own contorted way, was clearly trying to manipulate him through the memory of her daughter: his friend.

"Sansa was a beautiful girl. She'll be a beautiful woman and make a good wife."

"M' Lady-"

"Be at peace with your uncle's proposition. Take Storm's End. Marry and take care of Arya's sister. Help Arya's brothers go home. Bring honor to your father. You're a Baratheon."

Before he could respond, the willowy corpse of Arya's mother finished, "I will take back what has been taken from my children. Roose Bolton conspired to kill my son. He is just as guilty as the Frey's for the death of Robert and Arya. And now he sits in her father's seat and claims to be the Lord of Winterfell."

Gendry knew that he had no choice in the matter. He would marry Sansa Stark. What option did he have? Refuse? No. He would be put to death by blood thirsty Lady Stoneheart, for treason. Could he run? No. They would eventually find him. If it was not the Brothers, than it would be Stannis' men, if not them, than the crown, which was just as willing to kill a bastard of King Robert Baratheon.

"Yes, M' Lady."

He would marry Sansa Stark. He would take care of Arya's sister. Help her brothers in whatever way he could. Try to honor the memory of the girl that he failed to save, the girl that he never forgot and haunted him still. So that he may finally find some peace.

* * *

**_Jon and Aegon_**

When the knife pierced through his night shirt and grazed his skin, Jon was dazed searching for his sword. Caught off guard in the late hours of the night, the assailant, one of the brothers, had him on the ground. Sitting on his chest, he brought the dagger to Jon's throat, "I missed the first. Be sure, this time I won't."

Before he could fulfill his promise blood spurt from his throat and mouth as hands from an unseen body grasped the assailant. He gargled on his own blood. The dead body was thrown to the side as the bloodied hand reached out for Jon's.

"You must be careful who you take into your bedroom."

As the man stepped into the light he could see it belonged to his blue haired friend, Syrio.

Shaken, Jon managed to answer, "He was not invited."

"Have I not told you before that you are not a friend to all? As Lord Commander you must learn to not trust ever man who claims to serve."

Since his arrival two years previous, Jon and Syrio quickly took to one another. With blue hair and a foreign accent Syrio was an instant outsider, even amongst a population of cast offs. His quiet nature, keen intuition and indifference to his pariahcal status made him a kindred spirit to Jon. Since he began his time at The Wall there were few that Jon would trust or call a friend. Even a brother. But Syrio was both, never leaving his side.

Jon looked at the body.

"She was right."

"Who?"

"The red headed woman that Stannis Baratheon carts around with him like a pet. She told I had enemies amongst the brothers. She said they were coming for me."

"But they will not get you."

"No, thanks to you they will not. In these two years, have you ever failed me?"

"A true friend is a friend of winter and summer. However you are playing a dangerous game, Jon, to let the wildlings through the wall. You have made many enemies and he will not be the last."

"I know."

"You need to be more careful with your life. You're liable to allow yourself to be killed over the slightest squabble just to defend anyone you feel is in need."

In the two years that Aegon had spent at the Wall, as 'Syrio' all of his childhood idealizations were true. Jon Snow, Commander of the Wall was special. Had Jon Connington lived to meet him, he would have respected him and known why Aegon was so compelled to find him.

His kindness was shocking in an environment of harshness. His character impeccable. Jon embodied every idealism that Jon Connington had worked years to instill in Aegon.

As the men removed the body from Jon's living quarters, depositing it in the snow outside, Jon continued, "What shall we do with it?"

"Leave it till the morning. Then you will show the men of the Watch what happens to those who try to mutiny."

Looking one last time at the lifeless body, Jon followed Syrio back into the building.

"You never speak of your family, Syrio. Did you know them?"

Settling into a chair, in front of the fire, across from Jon, he answered, "No. My father was killed when I was only a babe. My mother raped and slaughtered along with my sister."

"That's terrible."

"Yes, although I still have an aunt and a brother."

"A brother?"

"Yes, a brother… a younger brother."

"And where is this brother?"

"He was taken from me as a child. Taken and raised in another family as a bastard."

"Hm, I see…. Was this in Essos?"

"No. It was in Westeros. You see my family had once been of some importance. But when we were attacked we were forced to flee, to leave this land and everything that was ours."

"And why were you attacked?"

"Why is anyone attacked? Power, coin, love, jealousy? If I were to tell you something Jon, do you think you could take me at my word?"

"I find you to be an honorable man and a loyal friend. I would believe what you tell me to be true."

"I found my brother. I took the Black and I found my brother here at the Wall."

Leaning forward Jon stoked the fire, "And who would that be?"

"You."

Smiling Jon took his words as an endearment from close friend, "Aye, I feel same about you, Syrio. You have been more of a brother to me in some ways than my own."

"My name is not Syrio, Jon Snow."

Still smiling Jon retorted, "It isn't? What is it then?"

"I am Aegon Targaryen the VI, the only son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, grandson of King Aerys Targaryen the II, the last true king of the seven kingdoms. I am the only living blood born brother of Jon Targaryen, raised as Jon Snow. The 198th Commander of the Wall and son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark."

The room filled with silence as Jon sat wide eyed staring back at his friend, "You lie…"

"I do not lie to you, brother. I am one of the last living dragons, as are you."

Almost stammering Jon answered, "My father was Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Once hand of King Robert Baratheon. My mother…"

"The usurper, not the king and your father was not Ned Stark. It was Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone. Your mother was Lyanna Stark. You, I and our aunt, Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons are the last living members of the House of Targaryen. "

Without another word, Aegon reached into the fire, picking up a burning ember. As he held it in his hand expressionless, he watched Jon's reaction.

"A true dragon cannot be burned by fire. Give me your hand brother."

When Jon did not comply, Aegon took his hand and placed the burning ember in his palm. Just as he had seen himself doing so many times in his childhood dreams.

At first flinching, waiting for the burn, Jon relaxed as the pain never came. Placing the ember back in the hearth, he looked from his own unmarred hand to Aegon's, finding them both unscathed.

"I have been looking for you brother, my entire life."


	3. Bargaining

**_Theon_**

Asha had once told him to not die so far from the sea. If he had listened to her then, how different things would be possibly for both of them. He'd never have fallen prey to Ramsay Snow, now Bolton.

A finger gone on both hands, the skin had been permanently scarred from burns and healed cuts. There were three toes missing in all. Three teeth removed his mouth, thankfully none of them in front. It had taken months after his recovery and escape for his other teeth to stop shifting and hold root. And months past that to regain some of the weight he'd lost in his three years of captivity. At times when the stiff winter breeze would blow over the Ironman's Bay, his ankle and foot would lock up, from years of fractures and sprains, giving him the appearance of a slight limp. With dark grey salty streaks running through his black hair and distinguished lines around his eyes, he was a different man than the one whom had left Winterfell for the Iron Islands with Robb Stark's proposal in hand.

Had he not escaped in the confusion of Abel's deaths, he would surely be only a corpse now. Days running through the Wolfswood, he would have died had he not been found half frozen, lying to his caretakers that he was Reek. He found his way to Blazewater Bay and eventually the Iron Islands.

There were times at night, when he could still see Jeyne, tears streaming down her face as he gave her away to Roose Bolton in her tattered white gown, Ramsay looking on, with a peculiar smile.

"Please don't do this," she begged. "I'm not Arya Stark. I swear it," she reiterated, her heals digging into the stone as she fought back while he forced her down the aisle.

Her face would haunt him till death, along with Robb's. He should have never listened to his father. He should have followed Robb into war, not for a kingdom but for a friend. An idealistic boy who believed the fairytale lies his father, the great Eddark Stark, had spun for him. He should have been less of a coward and taken Jeyne with him when he ran.

Now Asha would learn of Theon's loyalty as they had. In his hand he held a proposal for exchange: his sister, for his men. Only one problem, he was not Lord the Isles. She was. And for as long as Asha lived and sailed Black Wind she would always be. No matter how he tried, with her around, he'd never be Ironborn enough. He'd never be taken seriously. He'd always take second place.

He could hear Balon Greyjoy now, "Hard places breed hard men and hard men rule the world."

To be Lord of the Iron Islands, he'd have to be cruel to survive and quicker than the average Ironman. From his father he'd learned ruthlessness and from Ned Stark, that an intellectual maneuver was just as great as supremacy of the arrow or sword.

He'd make a deal with Stannis Baratheon and pledge himself to his claim to the Iron Throne under Theon's conditions. He'd strike himself the same agreement that his father was so foolish to rebuke years before.

* * *

**_Sansa_**

Petyr Baelish hovered in the doorway to her chambers begging for attention.

"Dearest, I have news for you."

Sansa tried to ignore the crawling feeling the swept over her skin as he approached. Although kind to her, Petyr never failed to leave her with an unsettling feeling. Since that kiss, the day of her aunt's death, he had never approached her again in a blatantly inappropriate manner.

However, the way that he watched her, like a predator stalking prey, kept her ever weary of his intentions.

She had heard rumors of Lady Stoneheart. The thought that her mother was still alive at first filled her with relief. But along with the rumors of her resurrection came others of her unnatural state. Petyr, himself, planned to leave the Eyrie after Lysa's death. Trying again, to seek out Lady Catelyn and win her favor. But stopped when he was informed of her state or at least that was what he told Sansa. The truth she'd never know.

**_(Flash back)_**

"**_I feel it is my duty to inform you that the woman that once was Lady Stark is dead."_**

"**_I hear she lived. She has survived…"_**

"**_By unnatural means…. Alayne, the woman that was once your mother will never be your mother again. She calls herself Lady Stoneheart. I have confessed to you, maybe foolishly, the affection I once had for your mother. I had made inquiries, sent men, and it has been confirmed she is not what she once was."_**

"**_Then what is she now?"_**

"**_A lost soul, a shadow of the woman she used to be. Dear, Lady Catelyn Stark is dead. The thing that has come back in her body will never be your mother. It is best to forget her."_**

"**_As I have forgotten myself?! As I have forgotten that I am Sansa Stark?"_**

"**_I have promised that no harm will come to you while you are in the Eyrie. We however, will continue this act until this war is done or until…."_**

"**_You find me a husband?" Her voice clearly laced with disgust, knowing all too well the thoughts that Petyr likely had for her._**

"**_Until I find a more suitable situation."_**

"Yes Lord Baelish."

A sour look came over his face, "There has been word sent from Lady Stoneheart. She has discovered your haven here and has sent men to retrieve you."

"I will return to Winterfell?"

Desperately he wanted to touch her in ways he had wished to do with Cat, so long ago. Only the lingering fear of repercussion, if he was discovered, stopped him.

"No. Winterfell is still in control of Roose Bolton. Lady Stoneheart has promised you to someone."

This was the moment since escaping Joeffry, Sansa had still feared. What monster would she be forced to wed? To who's mercy would she be at for the remainder of her days?

Could he be any worse than the intentions that Little Finger clearly had for her?

"Whom?"

"It seems that King Robert Baratheon has a natural born son. Stannis has legitimized him. You will be Sansa Baratheon, Lady of Storm's End."

Touching her cloth covered knee, under the guise of comforting, he explained, "He is said to have known your sister."

The mint of his breath was nauseating.

"Arya?" Sansa had tried not to think of her as she tried not to think of any of them. The guilt that weighed heavy for her childish mistake.

Other than in her prayers, the only thing Sansa filled her waking thoughts with were survival.

"Yes."

Collecting herself, she finally answered, "When is the wedding?"

"You leave with the guard in two days time. I will not be going with you. Someone must stay with Robert."

"If you will excuse me Sir, I would like to seek the Septa for prayer."

"Yes, my dear."

* * *

**_Stannis Baratheon_**

Six years Stannis had been fighting for the throne. It was ridiculous that a man had to squabble for what was rightfully his. That crown, belong to him and no one else.

He may have been driven past the Riverlands, but he was not beaten. Cowering in the North, they'd mock. Soon enough he'd show them how foolish their denials of his right, had been. He was assembling his army, gaining in numbers and strength.

Close to five years at the Wall had changed him as a man. He was no longer as righteous as he had been years before. Too long suffering the indignity of people's disbelief in his claim, too long fighting for something that should have always been his, made a man see things more clearly.

Maybe it was the loss at Blackwater that began his enlightenment. Or the betrayal of Davos Seaworth, taking Edric Storm against Stannis's will, getting himself and the boy killed in the process. But somewhere Stannis stopped questioning if what he doing was right or wrong. He stopped caring of other's definition of justice and became loyal to only his own. And he stopped trusting anyone around him, other than Melisandre.

He'd have his throne. He'd get what was coming to him. And he no longer cared whom he'd have to go through or what he'd have to do to get it.

"That little prick!" Stannis yelled, slamming the piece of paper against the wooden table.

"Problem?" Melisandre looked over from her perched position next to the fire.

"Theon will not accept a release of Asha in return for his allegiance."

Turning away from Winterfell in the middle of high snowfall, he'd regathered his men at the Wall, taking with him, his prisoners from Deepwood Motte. He sought to bargain with Theon Greyjoy for Asha's life in return for support when he moved his men down into the Riverlands.

"What else does he want?"

Since the passing of his wife Lady Selyse, twelve years prior in the birthing bed, Stannis had no inclination to take another wife.

"He wants me to wed his sister."

"Asha Greyjoy?" She questioned, clearly amused.

"The little bastard wants the Iron Islands for himself. With Asha alive and unmarried, he will never have it."

"Are those all his conditions?"

"He asks for sovereignty of the Iron Islands."

"Sovereign but with allegiance? What he asks is not unreasonable." Melisandre thought anything was reasonable. There was nothing that was outside the bounds of propriety that she wouldn't agree to under the right circumstances.

"I will not marry that woman, for his ships or men."

Rising from her seat Melisandre settled herself behind Stannis her hands kneading his shoulders.

"She is strong, fierce woman. You cannot win the throne if you are at war with anyone but the true enemy."

"Lady Stoneheart will not agree."

"The Lady Stoneheart will do anything to avenge the death of her children and her husband. Bran and Rickon are alive. They can rebuild. The Lannisters death will be more important to her then the death of Asha Greyjoy. Now is a time for diplomacy."

* * *

**_Stannis and Asha Greyjoy_**

"Get up."

Nudging her leg with his foot, Stannis jarred Asha from her sleep.

"Have you come to kill me?" Instead of fear, she smiled, welcoming the pleasant prospect.

"Your brother has made an agreement."

"Yes? Out with it Stannis."

"You and I will marry tomorrow in exchange for your brother's ships and men."

"You mean my ships and men?"

"Yes, well, it's tough to command soldiers from a cell."

She should have never attempted to help the whelp. If she'd let the northern bannermen wipe him out, as they planned, she'd be home now.

"That little twat has sold me so he could claim a seat that isn't his and an army that won't follow his lead?"

"As the Lord of the Iron Islands, he is their commander. You are not the Lord of the Islands."

"Just their leader…. I prefer death. It can be slow and painful, or quick. It does not matter."

"As do I, but I cannot take what is mine and be at war with the Islands at the same time. It seems you will be Queen someday."

Walking from her cell, he called to the guard, "Let her bathe, and find her appropriate quarters. Double her guard and don't let her from your sight."

Turning to her one last time he continued, "We will be wed in the morning and will leave for White Harbor shortly after."

"You will not let your new bride stay at camp?" She asked in a sardonic tone.

"I'm not interested in chasing you across Winterfell if you should be stupid enough to try to escape. I have other plans in order. You will come with me to my nephew's wedding and if you cause me any problems I will slit your throat myself."


	4. Revelry

**Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! I had originally thought this story would be one chapter and a look at all Arya's relationships. Then before I knew it, it had become a full blown story with other plot lines, and much more detail than I originally planned. I have an ending in mind, or at least an idea or where I'm taking the story. And yes Aegon will be showing up. And again thank you for reading and reviewing. You are all too nice. **

* * *

**_Brandon_**

**_Grey fur prickled as the breath before the beast disappeared. Ice beneath paws thawed as fire licked the ground, crawling up tree branches, crackling timber. The white beast landed before the wolf, its wings shuttering to a halt. From its nostrils seeped smoke, as a high pitched screamed leaked from its mouth, shattering the frozen ice hanging in the forest. _**

**_The wolf met the beast's red eyes, holding its ground next to the heart tree. Exchanging glances between itself and the four other others, the wolf waiting for a decided action. _**

**_The white broke ranks, padding its way to the dragon. The two females stood aloof, till the larger one stepped forward and approached the dragon. Stopping half way, she paused as if irresolute. Looking back to the huddled pack amongst the Godswood, she decided whether to join the dragon and white. _**

**_In a moment the wolf disappear, its shape sinking to the ground and from the fur shown a body. Broken, blood poured from the orifices as the limbs had been torn from the shell. Leaning in, the wolf pushed the matted hair aside to find a familiar face. _**

**"_Bran…." A female called to the beast. Leaning against a tree, a white dress flowed in the wind. She reached for pack, smiling, welcoming._**

Gasping, Bran shot up in his bed.

"Jojen… Jojen!"

Shuffling out of his roll, the man finally came to his side, "Yes, Lord."

"Wake Jon, bring him to me."

"Yes, Mi' Lord."

* * *

**_Stannis and Asha_**

The flaps of the tent violent snapped in the cold winter wind. As he approached her, still dressed in full cloak and tunic, Asha didn't know what to expect.

"I suppose we should get this over with."

"You expect to have me?" Her voice mocking.

"You are my wife now."

"Only by word."

"I am your husband. We will try to make the best of this situation."

Yanking at the edge of his cloak, he almost ripped it from the metal binding, "Let us make this quick."

As he reached for the laces of her dress, Asha squared her body, not cowering. She would not show fear.

"Oh your grace, you honor me with your soft, sweet words." She mocked him again.

Ripping the top of the bodice, he left her breasts exposed, "Silence!"

Reaching for the laces of his own britches, he quickly untied them, pushing the material down his legs.

Asha stood still awaiting her punishment, preparing herself to remain emotionless. Grasping the material of her skirt he pushed it over her hips finding her without small clothes. As he made an attempt to turn her, to take her from behind, without recognition or acknowledgement, she pushed back.

"You will look at me," she answered in a cold calculated tone.

Stannis had not taken a woman in months. The last had been Melisandre, in heated, angered haste. Finally looking Asha in the eyes, finding her unwilling to show fear, he found himself intimidated.

"You will turn for me woman."

"I will not turn for you, husband. If you wish to take me against my own will, you will do so staring me in the face."

The challenge was set. Could he be so cold as to take her against her will, while she watched accusing?

"So be it."

His hands hesitated as he grasped her hips lowering her onto the table. Her back bone rubbed uncomfortably against the cold wood. With her body stiff, Asha looked in Stannis's lifeless eyes and decided in that moment that she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She would enjoy it, just to spite him. She'd pretend. She would not let him know that he the ability to make her recoil.

She parted her legs, drawing him in. As he hovered outside her, she moved her head to the side, sucking in air preparing for his entry, "You will never truly take me," she whispered. And before he could register her words, she thrust herself forward taking him inside her.

The whole thing was pathetic and lasted only a matter of minutes.

"You can leave now."

Ejecting himself, he fumbled at the strings of his britches, pulling them up.

Lowering her dress, she turned from him and walked towards the bed. As he stalked towards the tent entrance, she knew without another thought that Stannis would be the most satisfying kill of her life.

* * *

**_Arya_**

Walking out of the heavy rain, into the tavern attached to Willow's Run Inn, Arya threw off the hood of her cloak. Crowded, she weaved through the throngs of huddled, drunken masses, searching for an empty seat.

When a hand snaked under her cloak and grasped her ass, Arya didn't hesitate to draw the blade concealed at her hip. Quick and subtle, it was pressed against the man's throat, in the time it took to bat an eye.

"Try it again and you will drink your own blood."

His hand dropped as the men at his table fell silent, whores in lap, mouths slowed mid conversation.

"Drop the blade, whore."

Scanning to her left, Arya caught the glance of a thick older man. Mouth half full of mead, reaching for his own blade, she gauged if his threat was real.

"Who will make me?"

Her plan to be inconspicuous as she moved through town seemed to be fowled. Rising from the table, he meant to meet her challenge before a voice called out a warning.

"Harron, drop your blade. We are here in peace."

With her blade still drawing blood, Arya waited for the words that followed, "What is your grievance, Miss?"

Turning her head, Arya's eyes fell upon the ghost of eight years past.

* * *

**_Jon_**

"What is it Bran?"

Slumping next to his bed, Jon leaned forward wiping the sleep from his eyes.

"I had a dream."

At ten and five, it had been months since Bran had his last prophetic dream.

"Aye, and what did you see?"

Jon wasn't sure what to make of Bran's dreams. They seemed to be more nightmares than a glimpse of what was to come.

"We were in the woods, all of us. A dragon came to the heart tree. And Arya..."

Jon's brows furrowed, "She's… Bran, don't speak of her."

His voice was harsh, clearly laced with emotion. Of all the children, his and Arya's connection had always been the strongest. She was the only child of Catelyn and Ned Stark that saw him as an equal: smothering him with uninhibited affection.

In his heart, he'd never allowed himself to come to terms with her death because it couldn't be true. If she was truly dead, he knew he would have felt it. Jon would be able to sense that something was missing. He would feel that an affection that he had held so close, through years in The Wall's harsh environment was gone: never to return.

"She's alive, Jon. I saw her at the heart tree. She called to me. She is coming for us all."

* * *

**_Gendry_**

When she didn't answer, he continued to approach.

"Mi' Lady if you have been wronged... I assure you, I will handle the matter."

"Don't call me that."

Her heart thumped loudly against her ribs. She was sure that everyone in the room could hear. Releasing her hold on the letch's neck, she stepped toward the man. He had aged and grown further into his features.

With her next step, the table clamored to their feet.

"Drop the blade girl," the old man hollered.

When she failed to disarm herself, still, he finished, "You are approaching Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End. Another step and your head will decorate a spike on the wall."

She stopped, searching his face, waiting for his recognition. But it didn't come. Instead he looked to her blade.

"I mean you no harm."

He didn't recognize her. For a moment, Arya felt a strange twinge in her throat. It had been six years since they had last spoke. His face drifting in and out of her dreams every so often.

Re-sheathing her weapon, she turned from him. Not wanting her expression to give away disappointment.

"Will Mi' Lady have a drink with me, as a token of apology?"

"No. I will not."

Before he could persuade her, she had stepped past the crowd and exited through a back door. Leaving him standing in silence amongst a room full of watchful eyes.

"Who was she?" Turning to his men, he searched for an answer.

"Who knows?"

Rubbing his neck, the lecher rasped, "A Bitch."


	5. What We See In Sleeping

**_Sandor_**

When he saw her by the stables, he had thought his eyes were lying. As she sat amongst a hand full of hovering guards in the tavern, he forced himself to not stare at her. The one glance was all he needed. He knew it was her. He would know Sansa's face anywhere.

When he threatened the wash girl later that night to show him her room, he hardly knew what he was doing. Did he just want to see her face? Did he want to touch her, to see if she was okay, if she remembered him? Had she thought of him once in eight years?

But now inside the room, he was sure there was only one thing that he had ever intended to do, from the moment he had turned the handle. Deep in sleep, with her face turned toward the door, huddled beneath blankets, she was no longer the little girl that he had offered to save. She was a full grown woman, beautiful and more delicate than he remembered.

He wasn't sure what his exact plans were. Where he would take her? What he would say, provided that he made it out alive? He clapped his hand over her mouth, causing her eyes to snap open with surprise.

"Quiet Little Bird. I'm not going to hurt you."  
When she tried to struggle against him, he realized that she wasn't the docile little girl he knew from King's Landing.

"Stop fighting or I will hurt you."

With one hand he tied the rope around her wrists trying to fasten a knot. When she continued to fight, her muffled screams echoing throughout the room, he made a hasty decision. Deftly he pinched the back of her neck till her eyes rolled back, body slumped and he was sure she had passed out.

Searching the room he found her satchel still packed for her trip. Taking out her heaviest cloak, he wrapped it around her shoulders, lifting her off the bed. As quietly as possible he exited the room.

It wasn't until he was slipping out the stables, steadying her in his lap, that he finally spoke again, "Sorry Little Bird. You chirped too loudly."

* * *

**_Arya_**

She counted his breaths in the dark, questioning how they both survived. In the eight years since they said goodbye, she had found herself wondering if the stupid boy she saved on the King's Road, all those years ago had lived. Had he found himself a life, maybe a wife and a child? Had he moved on and forgotten her, the ratty girl that traveled with him from Harrenhal?

Nights when she would lay awake in the House of Black and White, when she couldn't stop herself from thinking of home, Winterfell, her father, Jon, or Nymeria, he would drift into her thoughts. Selfishly she hoped that he hadn't forgotten. That he had remembered her. If only once.

When she saw his face, calm and aged in the tavern, she was sure that whole room had watched as her question was answered. The girl that had befriended the lost boy came home to find that the only one lost was still her. Would she ever not be lost?

It was time to leave. She could feel that morning was near and soon he would wake. Her journey to Winterfell had only just begun. As she approached the door, she could feel herself being pulled to stay in the room. Against her better judgment, she knelt beside the lost boy, who had once been her only friend.

"Goodbye, Gendry."

* * *

**_Bran_**

**_Darkness came, like a thick black shadow sucking the light from the sky. Everywhere, at once, there were screams filling the cold air. Children were struck down as they ran to their mothers. Men lay in blood waste, weapons in hand, stopped mid fight. Women ran in terror: fighting, scratching, crying out to their fallen children and mates. Their clothes were ripped from their backs: their heads rolling from their bodies. The Men of the Watch littered the ground, like toy soldiers. Discarded and dissembled. _**

**_There in the sea of blood stood a ghost, of milky white skin, icy blue eyes. Its hair was patchy and long. As it looked to the wolf, it smiled, raising its weapon. His calls perforated through the darkness above the cries of death._**

Bran's eyes flew open as he looked about the dark room, "They're coming…."

* * *

**_Jeyne_**

She could hear doors slamming down the long cold corridor causing her to shake.

"Please no, not tonight."

It had been days since she had last seen him. In quick feverish haste he'd come to her rooms, attempting to take her to bed.

"I need an heir," he responded solemnly, his milky white eyes glowering down at her. Roose's pale white skin made Jeyne's stomach roll. His touch made her nauseous, never soft, it was urgent and rough.

Years ago in these very same rooms she use to whisper secrets in Sansa's ear, giggle as they dreamed of the men they'd someday marry. Never in Jeyne's dreams, were her husband's fingers biting into her neck, rebruising old wounds as he yanked her small clothes down from behind.

Not once in all of their beautiful thoughts did she imagine herself crying as she was raped from behind, choking back her own desperate pleas to be saved, for anyone to make it stop; hoping that her husband wouldn't hear and decide to teach her a lesson afterward on disobedience.

When he'd finished, bruising her knees from repeated banging against the wooden surface with his rapid, careless thrusts, she pulled down her skirts in shame and kept her eyes to the floor. Every inch of her skin crawled, as if she had a thousand tiny bugs scurrying in every direction across the surface.

"Quiet," he demanded as she attempted to stifle herself, only causing the sobs to come out louder and more desperate.

"I said quiet," he barked again, until she felt the sharp hot pain of an open fisted hand coming down hard and fast against her cheek, shocking her into silence.

"One more word," he threatened, pulling up his britches as her insides lurched and burned with the desire to purge the memory of him inside her.

With her eyes to the floor, she waited for him to leave so that she may cry in peace.

"I expect a son, no later than spring," he warned before closing the door behind him and clicking the lock shut.

When she could no longer hear his footsteps on stone floors she burst out crying, her body crumpling onto itself on the floor.

Her and Sansa had been fools all those years ago. There was no such thing, as a fairytale.

* * *

**_Gendry_**

**_Lying next to him on the ground, the light from the embers glowed against her soft round face. Her pixie hair poked out from under her arms. He had this dream before, always the same. _**

**"_Arya…"_**

**_For a moment he wondered if this wasn't a dream. If instead, everything else had only been a dream. Maybe the past eight years, the different whores he had taken to bed, the Bannermen, Lady Stoneheart, the Red Wedding, Storm's End and his engagement were just figments of his imagination._**

**"_Are you real?" He whispered._**

**_She smiled, "Of course I am, stupid."_**

**"_Where have you been?"_**

**"_Here, waiting for you."_**

**"_Have I been gone long?"_**

**"_Yes, a very long time."_**

**"_Am I leaving again?"_**

**"_Yes. You always leave."_**

**_Reaching his hand out against the ground, he waited for hers to find it, "I promise I won't."_**

**"_Don't make promises you can't keep."_**

Suddenly awaking, he shot up. There in the corner, sat a little girl, in britches and tunic.

"Arya?"

Scrambling, he jumped from his bed to find nothing.


	6. When I Find You, I'll Find Me

**Sansa**

Her body shook against the wind that licked at her back.

"Where are we going?"

"Does it matter?"

Sitting next to the fire, he poked at the roasting animal. If Sansa was scared she was trying hard not to show it, he decided. Shivering with her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders, this was the first time in two nights that he felt like the monster he knew he was.

"Are you cold?"

She didn't answer.

"Answer me girl," his voice louder than he intended.

Her head snapped up, as she replied, "Yes. I. Am. Cold. Ser. And I am not a girl. I am Lady Sansa Stark, soon to be Sansa Baratheon, Lady of Storm's End."

"I see the wind hasn't dulled your tongue."

"Nor my wit. Where are you taking me Ser?"

"Not Storm's End. We are going south."

"Why are you taking me south?"

"Because the cold doesn't agree with me."

She shifted this time, her night dress now poking out from under the heavy cloak, "Sandor, why are you taking me south?" She asked slow and patient.

He took in a deep labored breath. He hadn't decided how to explain this part. Everything was easier when she was asleep, cradled against him, unaware and unquestioning.

When he didn't respond, she continued, gentle but firm, "Sandor, you cannot just take me."

"Aye, I can't? I just did." And with that, he pointed his finger, "You belong to me, now."

Swallowing her fear, he confirmed what Sansa had already expected. His reasons were not political but instead personal.

"I can not belong to you, Sandor."

His mouth tightened, "And why is that? Don't want to belong to the beast?"

Rising from her seat, Sansa moved to stand before him. With her cloak open, her body could be clearly seen through her thin night dress. At full height, he looked up to her as a child would look upon an adult.

Hesitating for a moment, Sansa finally reached out. Her fingers traced the scars on his eyebrow, temple, cheek and lip. When he moved to hide from her, she grabbed his chin, "Do not turn from me."

Slowly complying, he faced her again. As she retraced the scars, she continued, "I can not belong to you because I belong to another."

"Aye, ya do? Some prattling little boy?"

"No, an honorable man."

"I'm sure. Some little lord, with his castle and lands."

"An honorable man. Just like you."

He scoffed, "Honorable? You really are a stupid Little Bird."

"No, I'm not. I'm a grown woman who knows that you won't hurt me, Sandor Clegane."

"Stupid and naïve…"

With that he placed his hand on her hip, kneading at her skin beneath the shear material.

"You won't hurt me Sandor, because despite what you say, you are an honorable man."

Taking her challenge, he placed his other hand on her hip, attempting to draw her in. "Not afraid of the beast?"

Bracing her hands on his shoulders to stop him, she answered, "No. I am not."

"And why is that Little Bird? How can you be so sure? I stole you from your chamber. I've taken you into the woods. I never plan to return you."

"I do not fear the beast because I know what the beast does not."

"And what is that beauty?" He sneered.

Leaning in she softly kissed his rough mouth before answering, "The beast loves beauty and she trusts the beast. You would not hurt me anymore than you would intentionally hurt yourself. You will return me Sandor, because you want me to be happy."

"And you could not be happy here with me?"

Carefully Sansa stepped out of his grasped and answered, "I could not be happy if I did not do everything possible to help my family. Family, Duty, Honor."

"House of Tulley."

"Yes, and I will marry my lord so that he will help my family go home to Winterfell."

"And if I do not return you?"

Settling back in her seat, Sansa replied, "Then my joy will die along with that legacy."

* * *

**Jon**

_"They are coming, Jon. The White Walkers will come beyond the wall. With them they will bring death and never ending darkness. They have to be stopped."_

Bran's words echoed in Jon's ears as his fist clenched tighter around the message in his hand.

"Jon we have to act. It is time. We must leave. We must meet Daenerys at the Narrow Sea. If we do not, we will all perish."

"I cannot abandon the Wall."

"If you do not, then we all will die."

"There is still time."

"Jon, the time it will take us to travel to the sea... We must leave at once."

"And what will I tell the men?"

"You will tell them that you resigning as commander. You will tell them that you are going south to Winterfell, to reclaim it."

"Deserters are put to death."

"In their minds you are the last living Stark. It would be your duty to take back Winterfell. It is your duty to uphold your oath and do what is best for the Watch, for the kingdoms. If this is about Bran and Rickon..."

"I have already sent them south with Mance. They will meet the wedding party in White Harbor."

"Then what is it?"

"If she is not in Winterfell... If this is not her..."

Then, Aegon understood his hesitance. "This could very well be her, Jon."

Although he wanted to believe it to be true, that she was alive, he could not believe that Arya would marry Roose Bolton. The girl from his childhood would not have agreed to marry any man, much less one disgusting as Roose.

"And if it is not...? If she comes for me and I am not here...?"

Jon had spent nine years waiting for Arya Stark to wander into camp. If she were alive. If she were anywhere, she would find him. She would know that to be what Ned would want her to do. The rest of the Starks could be scattered to the wind, but she would know to find Jon at The Wall. Arya would know that Jon would protect her, but if he were to leave now, if she were to wander into a camp of a thousand men without protection. What would happen to her then?

"I cannot leave her."

In the two years they had spent as brothers of The Watch and the weeks they lived as real brothers, Jon and Aegon kept little secrets between them. But of everything that Jon would discuss, of all that he could freely say, Arya was something that he kept close. Not willing to share her memory or his hope with anyone.

"Then don't. We will go to Winterfell and see your sister. When we find her married to Roose Bolton we will travel south to Daenerys. We will meet the third dragon and save the Seven from a death of darkness."

* * *

**Gendry**

They had been on the road for a week tracking the Hound and Lady Stark. In the mists of heavy rain, the forest was black except for the light flicking in the near distance.

Signaling for a split in forces, the men raised their arms preparing for an attack. As they closed in on the camp there was no sight of the woman, only the Hound. A towering man, most men would cower in his presence.

Feet away from the beast, all Gendry could think was how this man had taken Arya Stark. He'd brought her to the House of Frey and left her there to die. The Hound hadn't known it that morning, but he would meet his death before next dawn.

As a twig snapped under a soldier's foot, Sandor rose from his seat by the fire, sword in hand. With their element of surprise gone, the men rushed the beast.

One by one, the Hound beat back the men until the force became too overwhelming. Cut at the calf, his knee bent as a voice called out from the shadow of the tree, "Do not hurt him!"

Ignoring the request, a soldier pieced the other thigh, bringing Sandor completely to his knees. From the shadows ran a woman. Willowy in figure, with dark auburn hair, she stopped short of the soldiers watching as they prepared to end the beast.

Taking his hammer, Gendry swung to kill the man that taken from him the only person he had ever grieved.

From his knees, Sandor had dropped his sword. Seeing Sansa he called out one last time, "Oh, Little Bird…" before the hammer connected and crushed his skull.

Looking up from the kill, Gendry's sense of vindication quickly vanished, before him stood his future wife. In a tatter cloak, her night dress had soaked through, leaving her naked to the world. Her face and neck covered with the Hound's fresh blood.

In shock she looked at him, her eyes glazing over.

Her knees began to buckle and before Gendry had time to think, he grabbed her as she narrowly missed the ground. Taking her in his lap, he removed his own cloak to cover her. "It's alright. You're safe now."

And when she wept, he pulled her closer, cradling her head.

Had Sansa been younger she would have looked upon this scene as a story of a brave knight that saved his lady. But now, in the darkness of the forest, this Sansa would have spoken of a different story. Her song would be of a beauty and her beast: a complicated story of love, hate and fear.


	7. Shadow of the Heart Tree

**Samwell**

Three years Samwell Tarley spent studying in Oldtown. When he returned nothing had changed but also everything. He was a Maester now, a position of recognition. The men no longer taunted him as they did before. Fearing that if the time came and for each one, it eventually would, he would remember the things they used to say to him years ago. Mayhaps he would run short of Milk of the Poppy when it came their turn to be stitched up, be less than eager to treat with a gentle hand if they were struck with fever.

Things had also changed between him and Jon. He'd left him as an innocent friend and come back with a past of indecency following him: a bastard, born and raised by Gilly in the southern lands. If Jon knew, he didn't mention it. He instead greeted his old friend with open arms and company.

Samwell had yet to decide what to make of Syrio. The other men of the Watch ostracized him immediately, only furthering to drive him closer to Jon- the beacon for wayward misfits. Like all manner of those at Castle Black, the blue haired man had secrets, more so then the other men. He never spoke of his past and no one knew of his crimes. Many assumed a bastard, maybe a thief. He arrived early one morning alone, wandering into Night's Watch, without a story. Making him all that more suspicious to Samwell.

Jon was too trusting, allowing the stranger to weave his way into the fabric of his small circle.

Mayhaps he was overreacting but he felt it to be unlikely. So when Jon came to Sam and told him of his plan to resign as Lord Commander, to travel south to Winterfell, Samwell knew that somehow Syrio was the conductor in this plan of folly.

"You cannot leave the Watch, Jon. The punishment for abandonment is death. It won't matter if you are Lord Commander or not."

Seven years he'd stayed, through his father and brother's deaths, the destruction of Winterfell, the disappearance of both his sisters. And now, he chose to leave?

"I'm not abandoning the Watch, Sam. I took an oath. There are things, I need to do however."

"And what are these things?" Setting down his mortar and pestle, he eyed his friend cautiously, looking for signs of withholding in his next words.

"Arya, I need to go to Winterfell, for Arya."

It had been years since Jon had spoken that name. Although he'd heard it close to a half dozen other times from the men, rumors from the south. That Lord Bolton had married the youngest Stark girl.

"It may not be her. But I need to see for myself."

"Then why resign? Winterfell is mayhaps a week's ride from here in the mid winter snows."

"There are other things, things for the Watch."

"What things?"

"I can't speak of it."

Grounding the hard mineral into a fine powder, Samwell replied, like an angry wife, "Things that have to do with him."

"Things that have to do with upholding my oath to the Watch."

"Strange way to go about it," he huffed. "And who is supposed to lead with you gone?"

"That will be for the men to decide."

"And your brothers?" Rickon and Bran, hidden in Castle Black from most everyone's knowledge.

"They are going south. I received news that Sansa is to be wed."

"She's alive?"

"Yes," he smiled, "And hiding in the Vale."

Something was wrong. There was something very wrong. Jon was keeping something from him. He had been for close to a week and it had to do with the blue haired man.

"I'm glad to hear it."

"I want you to look out for things, with me gone, Sam."

"Maesters can't be commanders," he sputtered hotly.

"I know, but I trust that you will watch things for me regardless."

It was a terrible time to leave. With Stannis's troops swarming the castle and Wall, unrest in the brotherhood, over the Wildlings. Something great had to be drawing Jon south.

"When will you return?"

"As soon as I am able."

"You mean if you aren't tracked down and hung for desertion?"

Patting his old friend on the back, Jon answered, "I'll be fine, Samwell."

For all his reassurance, he knew for reasons he couldn't quite place, that Jon was wrong. He wouldn't be fine. Something was coming, something that would change everything.

* * *

**Arya**

The walls were covered in soot, the yard in ruins. A thousand years Winterfell had stood, protected by the Starks. Now it was ashes. And no one seemed to care or notice. Like bugs they scurried through the refuse. Unaware of what this place had once been.

At Hornwood, Arya learned of the burning of Winterfell. The death of Rickon and Bran and the usurping of Roose Bolton. She heard of Lady Arya. How Roose Bolton had wed the last living Stark.

Slipping inside an old passage in the bowels of the citadel, she walked through the catacombs past Lyanna's grave to the empty space where Ned should rest. Her fingers traced the stones. She placed the blue rose on the ground, "Not today."

Tying her hair in twine and tucking it under her hood, she wiped dirt from the floor onto her face. Pulling her cloak, with the sigil of House of Bolton closed, she concealed her curves.

Ascended from beneath the ground, she moved about the people of Winterfell without notice. She watched, deciphering players in the game and their places on the board. With evening shortly approaching, she finally slid into the large chamber, slipping beneath the darkness in waiting.

* * *

**Jon**

Led into the Great Room, a hall that once had been filled with family and warmth was cold and shabby.

"Jon Snow. You've come to see my bride?"

Aegon scanned the room. With few soldiers and whatever ladies were left on the scavenged lands, he kept himself close to Jon, sensing the hostility.

"Or have you come to take back Winterfell? There are rumors that you abandoned the Wall."

Jon looked into the faces of the women present. None were Arya. Where was she? Where was he hiding her?

"Has The Wall frozen your tongue? You will not find her here, now. If you wish to see your sister, only ask and I will have someone fetch her."

"I have not abandoned the wall. Those are only rumors. I do wish to see Arya. Bring her."

Roose motioned to the guard by the doors. Exiting momentarily, he returned with a woman. Jerking her by the arm, she tittered to a halt in front of Roose, yards away from Jon and Aegon.

"Bring her closer."

When the woman stepped hesitantly forward he could see that her brown hair was ratted, her dress clean but worn. When she lifted her eyes to meet his, her face showed spots of grey and blue shading: marks of healing skin. Attractive, she attempted to smile, trying to force a welcoming look into her scared eyes: her brown eyes.

Jon had been almost positive that this woman wasn't Arya Stark the moment she entered the room. Her easily cowed nature was nothing like her. Arya would never have cowered or flinched at someone's touch. No matter how many times she had been hit. Even as a child, Arya had a type of fight that couldn't be beat out. The fact that her eyes were blue only made the ruse that much more insulting.

"How are you Arya? It's been so long."

"I am well."

"Are you satisfied?" Roose leaned forward in his seat, clearly waiting to see if his plan had worked.

"Yes."

Turning back to the woman he finished, "It's so nice to see you again." Leaning in, he hugged the woman, trying to force some affection into the act.

Still close he spoke loud enough for Roose to hear, "I wish I could stay Arya, but I have to get back. I just came to offer felicitations on your marriage. Maybe some time I could come and see you again?"

Although the woman smiled and replied, "Sure, brother," her tired eyes flickered rapidly side to side, Jon feeling desperation radiating off of her.

She looked so familiar. Why?

"Will that be all?" Ramsay, Roose's leering son questioned, standing at the right hand of his father.

Addressing Roose, he continued, "May I have a word with you? Business about the Wall…"

He feared leaving this woman, Arya or not. But he couldn't save them all.

* * *

**Arya**

When he entered his chambers, he found her perched in a chair by the bed.

"And who are you?"

She stood, her body naked except for a few thin pieces of material.

"I'm here for you. I was sent to warm your bed." Her voice was low and seductive.

"Do you not want me? Should I tell them to send another?"

He looked at smooth skin, lean muscles, pert round breast with hard pink nipples visible through the material.

"No, you will do."

Undressing himself, he motioned for her to help him with his britches. Obliging, she pushed the material down his hips, asking, "What would you like me to do My Lord?"

Smiling Roose, grabbed her by her long brown hair, yanking her head back, "Scream, like the little whore you are."

"Oh, I will…"

Leaning in, long enough to rub against him, she whispered, "Lay yourself on the bed and I will make us both scream.

He sneered for a moment, reaching up and groping her hard, before retiring to the bed. Lying on his back.

"Come to me, you little bitch."

Sliding onto the bed, she settled herself. Straddling him, she pinned his arms.

"Well get on with it. Don't be a tease."

Leaning in, Arya pressed her arms on either side on him. While his lips found her neck, his hands tugging at the cloth at her hips. Reaching beneath the furs at his head, her hand clenched the steel that she'd hidden.

Lips brushed against his ear, her other hand playing with his hair, "Do you know who I am My Lord?"

"Who the fuck cares?" he muttered, finally ripping the material from her body.

She hummed before whispering, "You should…"

Annoyed, he tried to shift her hips that so that he could enter her, "Shut your mouth, woman!"

Yanking hair, his head flew back. His eyes wide with surprise, "What-"

"I am Arya Stark and you will never have me." Without delay she drove the blade across the exposed throat. His blood spurting forth, coating her.

* * *

**Jon and Aegon**

As they settled to camp, Aegon grabbed the harnesses of both horses, "We cannot do this. You agreed."

"I agreed to go south if that was Arya."

"Was it not?"

Jon threw another piece of wood on the pile that would be their fire, "No. That woman could never be Arya Stark."

"Jon, we don't have time to waste. You cannot run back to The Wall. We have to continue."

"I can't just leave her. I'm not going to abandon her, Aegon."

"Abandon her? You can not abandon a ghost! It has been nine years and she never came. No one has seen her, heard of her, in years. She is not going to The Wall, Jon. She is not coming for you! She's dead!"

Standing now, Jon yelled back, "She is not dead! Do not say that! She will come. Arya will come to The Wall."

"And if she does not? If she never comes and you wait? What then? We all die. Every single one of us: you, I, Bran, Rickon, the men of The Watch, the people of the Seven! We all die."

"She will come."

"How do you know? How are you so sure that she isn't already dead?"

Aegon couldn't understand it. Winter was upon them, the darkness closing in. Jon had seen the Others. He knew what was ahead and still he buried his head in the sand. He could save the Seven. Uphold his oath. Protect the men. Become the dragon he was meant to be. But instead he chose to run back to The Wall. To wait for a little girl that was no longer his sister. That had died long ago.

Remembering Bran's words, **"_She's alive, Jon. I saw her at the Heart Tree. She called to me. She is coming for us all," _**Jon answered, "Brother, I ask you now to trust me. She isn't dead. I know she is alive and she will come for me."

As Aegon opened his mouth to protest, Ghost shot up from the ground letting out a short, his head bobbing.

Jon turned from Aegon, looking at the direwolf. When the wolf did it again, Jon held up his hand, silencing Aegon. "There's something out there."

Silently the two men watched as the wolf turned, entering the thicket. Goading them to follow.

Bring them deeper into the forest, they tripped over logs and low lying branches, tracking the wolf the best they could. Drawing their weapons, they heard the stream before they found water.

"Where are we going?" Aegon whispered.

Jon pressed his finger to his own lips, motioning to the stream. In the partial cover of a heart tree sat a huddled figure drawing water from the creek. In silence, they watched as the figure stood, removing its clock to reveal a woman. Dressed in britches and tunic, her dark braid scaled down her back. Removing a blade from her side, she ran it through the water before setting it on the ground. Next she removed her tunic, exposing her bare back.

Dipping it into the water, she brought the material to her face, neck and chest. Feverishly scrubbing her skin.

As she continued the process again, Jon looked away, feeling guilty for watching such a private moment. Aegon, he noticed, clearly did not share his sentiments. Enamored with nymph by the stream, he made no attempt to do the honorable thing and shield his eyes. As the woman re-adorned the tunic, Jon tapped Aegon's shoulder, motioning for them to leave.

Still smiling, Aegon turned to follow before a shuffling noise came from the direction of the water. Turning, the men saw that they had been found, as the woman grabbed her blade: preparing to defend herself.

Jon stepped forward, raising his hands in surrender. "We mean you no harm, Miss."

She turned her body sideways, still scanning the men.

"Show yourself," she called out.

Stepping from the shadows, both Aegon and Jon walked towards the stream, stopping yards before the woman. Now clearer in the light, Jon could see that she was worth the gawk. Short and petite, her face there was an odd beauty to her features. Her dark hair hung loosely in a braid, strands of wild hair framing her.

Her eyes darted from him to Aegon and then back to him, where they settled for a long moment. Suddenly, she broke out in a smile, throwing down her weapon.

"Jon," she called out. Running toward him in a dead sprint.

With no time to think, Jon didn't even have time to draw his sword before she was on him. Knocking him to the ground. With her knees pressing down on his stomach, she knocked the air from him, as she kissed his forehead, eyebrow, nose, chin and cheeks. In her muddled haste she called out his name again and again.

Kissing the corners of his mouth, she buried her face into his hair and whispered, "You found me."

Finally coming to his wits, Jon pushed the woman from him. Falling to the ground, she reached for him again, "Jon it's me."

"Who are you?"

"It's me. Don't you recognize me? It's Arya."

Shocked, Jon looked at the woman before him. Sure that this wasn't her. Arya Stark was a dirty little girl, with matted hair, plain features, a smart mouth and he loved her all the more for it.

"No…"

"Jon." Perching on her knees, she leaning into him, taking his face in hand. "Look at me Jon. Its me. Don't make me stick you with Needle to prove my point."

With their faces inches apart, he saw her grey eyes and knew it was true.

"Arya…" Grabbing the neck of her tunic, he pulled her in hard. Holding her so tight she couldn't breathe.

"You came…." He whispered into her hair.


	8. Where loyalties lie

"Who are you?"

Aegon shifted uncomfortably, looking to Jon.

"Arya, this is…"

"Syrio. My name is Syrio."

"Syrio?"

Arya eyed the blue haired man suspiciously. "I once knew a man named Syrio."

Aegon smiled, welcoming the attention, "Was he horribly handsome and charming?"

"No. I've never known an attractive Syrio."

He frowned.

"He was my teacher."

Extending his hand to help her from the ground, Aegon answered, "Lucky man."

* * *

**Jon/ Arya/ Aegon**

As they sat around the fire Arya explained to the men how she escaped King's Landing, Harrenhal and survived the King's Road. Noting to leave out Gendry.

"Where have you been these past eight years?" Your accent, you haven't been hiding in Westeros."

"And where are you from, Syrio? No one from the Sevens is born with blue hair and violet eyes."

She was quick as she evaded his questions. She had refused his help, ignored his comments and looked at him like a bug. It was an odd feeling she gave Aegon. Like nothing he'd ever experienced. Most women swooned at the look of him. They'd become blushing, stuttering messes if he gave them the slightest amount of attention. Not Arya. In the two days they had been traveling she'd spoken to Ghost more than him.

Handing her a piece of bread, Jon's face was still beaming. From the look of him, you'd thought he swallowed the sun. Aegon had never seen him like this ever. He'd find him watching her all day, following her every move, like a dog padding behind its master.

"That there is not."

"Only one family known for violet eyes in the Seven and they're just as extinct as their dragons."

"Are they now?" He challenged.

"They say that two escaped, a brother and sister. But the boy is said to be stupid, crazy… and impotent." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, clearly trying to goad him.

"Although, all the dragons were crazy fools…"

"Arya."Jon clearly warned as he watched Aegon fall further into her obvious trap.

"They were?" Aegon struggled to keep calm.

Looking at the white roots of his hair poking out under the bright blue coloring, he looked ridiculous. Arya had known since the first day that this man was not Syrio. He was not from the Seven. She only wondered why Jon was traveling with Viserys Targaryen.

"Tell me Viserys, do you ride your sister like your ancestors did theirs?"

Jon nearly choked on his bread, coughing and gasping for air. But the blue haired man only stared back. His face expressionless.

"All the time. Should I show you how?"

Reaching for Needle, she calmly pointed it in his direction, "Try it and you'll never ride again."

Recovering, Jon intervened, "Arya. We need to talk…"

It was fair to say Aegon didn't know what to think of the Stark woman. Were they all so brash and sharp tongued? Had Lyanna been the same? Was this the kind of woman that sent his father to his death and his family spiraling to the brink of extinction?

"Arya, things have changed since you left. This is not Viserys Targaryen." He paused, deciding for a moment and then continued, "Arya, this is Aegon Targaryen. My brother."

"Brother?"

"Yes, apparently we weren't all sister fuckers."

"What do you mean by brother?"

"Arya, Ned Stark was not my father. He was my uncle. You are not my sister. You're my cousin. My father was Rhaegar Targaryen and my mother was Lyanna Stark."

He wasn't her brother? Hadn't he always been her brother? Wouldn't he always be her brother?

"We are going to take you to White Harbor, where you will meet with Sansa and the others."

"Sansa? She's alive?"

"Yes, she's alive. So are Bran and Rickon. We are taking you to meet the wedding party. She is marrying Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End."

Gendry? Arya had been replaying that surprise over and over in her head for weeks since she last saw him. Gendry was alive. He was a Baratheon bastard, Lord of Storm's End and now he would marry Sansa. For some reason, which she couldn't pin point, this revelation particularly stung.

Why was she surprised? It had been eight years. Had she really expected him to not marry and have children? When she had left she was child, with a secret affection. He was a man at that point who would have had little to no interest in the scraggly little girl traveling with him on the King's Road.

"Why would Sansa marry the Lord of Storm's End?"

"For Winterfell. Stannis has agreed to take back Winterfell from Roose Bolton if the two houses are united. The bannermen from the north, behind Bran and Rickon, along with House of Tulley, will follow Stannis's claim for the Iron Throne."

Aegon shifted at the mention of Stannis Baratheon. Jon felt a wave of uncertainty. Stannis would marry his nephew to Sansa to win a throne and restart another war with Bran, Rickon and Sansa in the middle. Only this time they wouldn't be fighting the Lannisters. The Starks would eventually be at war with the Targaryens and their dragons.

Nine years ago he had stayed at the Wall while Ned was beheaded, Rob betrayed and murder. The boys were threatened and the girls left at the mercy of snakes. His burden of his guilt was always present but weighed even heavier on him since finding Arya. Where had she been these past seven years? Had she been safe? Had she ever been hurt? Could he have prevented any of it?

Long ago he had an oath to stand behind, preventing him from action. Now years after he found himself square int the middle of another war. Only this time, there was no oath to keep him removed. Was he more Stark or Targaryen? Where would his loyalties ultimately lie?

"Roose Bolton is dead."

"No. He is still alive. Claiming Winterfell as his own."

"Jon, I ask you now to trust me on this. He is most certainly dead."

"How do you know?" Aegon questioned, handing her the lambskin.

Taking a swig, she wiped her mouth and answered, "I killed him."

"What?" They spat out in unison.

"I went to his chambers, laid him on the bed and slit his throat myself."

"How?"

"With the pointy end," she smiled.

Neither man shared in her humor.

Sternly, Jon continued, "What do you mean you laid him on his bed, Arya?"

Jon didn't know why but suddenly he was furious. Before the idea of Roose Bolton with Arya, the little girl he knew and loved made him sick with sympathy and a more paternal fear. Now the thought of her and Roose made his stomach turn, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and his sword arm twitch. Surely the woman of the stream, this woman, Arya, his Arya, wouldn't have laid with a snake like Roose Bolton for any reason.

"I mean the filthy letch undressed himself, crawled like the slime he was into bed and found that the whore he paid for turned out to be the woman he claimed to have wed."

Jon's voice grew raspy, "Did he touch you?"

She shrugged casually, "Only his blood."

"Where did you learn to use a sword?" Aegon stammered.

"I told you, Syrio was a great teacher."

"And to kill a man?" Jon questioned.

"Many things have changed, Jon."

_"Who was this woman?"_ Aegon questioned. Smart mouthed, rash and capable with a blade. His list of her was lengthening by the hour.

"So you plan to ride to White Harbor, drop me with Sansa and then what?"

"We are going south, meeting Daenerys at the sea. The Others are coming. The forces at the Wall can't hold them forever."

"The White Walkers…. So the legends are true?"

"Yes. And we will need more than just the Nights Watch to fight them. We need dragons."

"Dragons? So the rumors were not lies."

"How have you heard the rumors of dragons?"

"I spent some time across the Narrow Sea. Dragons are a hard secret to keep."

Aegon interjected, "Without them the Seven will parish. A legend my father believed spoke of the three headed dragon that would save the kingdoms from a never ending darkness. Jon is our third dragon."

"So you will get your beasts, beat back the Others and then ride home?"

She had arrived at the topic Aegon and Jon had yet to bridge.

"No. You won't. Will you? You'll fight Stannis Baratheon, my brothers and King Robert's bastard for a throne. Burning anyone alive who stands in your way."

Both the men sat in silence until Aegon answered, "Yes. We will take back what is ours."

"And you've agreed to this, Jon? You've agreed to forsake your brothers and let Sansa burn?"

"They are not his brothers."

Turning fully to Jon, her voice hardened further, "Are they not? Are we now your bastards, Jon? Are we so expendable now that you are a Targaryen?"

"I am still a Stark… and I have not agreed to any of this. I have taken an oath to protect the Wall and the Seven kingdoms beyond it. We will not win this fight without fire. If darkness collapses over Westeros there will not be a Winterfell, Storm's End or a throne to go to war for."

"Jon, don't be stupid." Now yelling, "It will not end at the Wall. It will not end with the death of the Others. If you do this there is no going back."

"We will not harm your family, "Aegon cut in, trying to defuse the tension.

Clearly ignoring him, she continued, "I should have never left Braavos. It was stupid of me to think I could come back. There will not be a Winterfell, ruined or otherwise, after you allow them to burn us to the ground."

"We will not attack the innocent. We will not attack Winterfell or the Starks."

"As King Aerys did not attack Brandon Stark or burn Rickard Stark unjustly to death in his armor? History has too many stories of what has happened when something or someone stands in a Targaryen's way."

"Winter is coming…" Jon reminded.

"And with it fire!" She shot back.

Now angry, Jon shouted, "We are not children anymore, Arya. There are no black and white answers. Not every man can be honorable and uphold his duties. These are the decisions that have to be made."

Standing, Arya answered, "If Ned could see you he would be ashamed."

It was a low blow and she knew it. Although Ned wasn't Jon's father he would always think of him as such. And Ned was nothing if not honorable. She had exposed a question he had been mulling over for weeks. What would Ned say? Would he have agreed? Would Jon shame the memory of the man that raised him like his own?

Before he could answer, she walked away, distancing herself in disgust. As Jon rose to follow Aegon interrupted, "No. Don't. I'll go."

The effect she seemed to have on Jon was aggravating for Aegon to watch. He cared too much what she thought. Who was this woman to question Jon and his principles? Who was she to deny him what was his?

* * *

**Arya and Aegon**

"Take one step closer and I'll kill you myself."

Ignoring her, he continued forward, even as she raised her sword in defense. Deflecting the blade with his hand, he started to talk when she drew the blade back to his throat, "I meant what I said. Do not speak to me, liar."

When he opened his mouth she pushed the blade harder against his throat, causing him to step back and draw his own. "You have to make this difficult?"

Casually he deflected her weapon with his own, "I meant what I said."

She moved sideways, lunging for his shoulder. Defending himself he continued, "I have no intention of personally hurting your brothers."

Lunging again, she didn't answer, only drawing him further into the fight. In the beginning he was casually fending her off, but when she grew serious, coming at him with force, Aegon immediately had to readjust. As their duel began he tried in the beginning to just defend against her blows.

"I would never intentionally try to hurt your sister either. It will be a war. I cannot make promises. But I would never do anything to harm Jon. He's family. The only family I have."

Soon he attempted to make his own strikes. Hoping it would stop her. Missing his shoulder, she bent quickly hitting his knee with the hilt of her sword, causing it to buckle.

Grunting he recovered and continued, "I will not take Winterfell, no matter what the circumstances may be. I will leave your family their lands."

Backing her into a tree, he had her cornered, "Hells you're difficult! Are you listening to a word I'm saying? I will not hurt your brothers. I will do everything possible to protect your family."

Both were panting from the struggle, as Arya answered, "You swear it?"

"Yes. I swear I will protect the House Stark."

She smiled, taking the hilt of her sword she swept again at the back of his knees, taking him to the ground.

"Good because if you don't, I'll kill you myself. And I won't take you to bed to do it."

She tried to walk away, but Arya wasn't quick enough. Standing, he caught the back of her tunic pulling her in. As she fought against him both fell back against the tree. "Will you always hate me so?" He whispered.

"As all Starks have Targaryens."

"Not always. At one time a Stark was fond of a Targaryen and he loved her enough to start a war."

"And they both died."

"Not all love ends in death." He didn't know that for sure. Closer inspection of his family tree would disagree, but he was sure that at some time, somewhere, there was at least one example to leverage his argument.

"That kind does."

Turning her, he asked, "And what is that kind?"

"Selfish love." She sounded like Old Griff and all the tales and warnings he'd layered into Aegon's subconscious over the years.

"The best kind."

"What do you know of love? I suppose there's some sad woman waiting somewhere for you? A wife?"

He frowned, his eyes searching her face. She was a strange woman, small but not soft. The unruliness of her appearance could only be matched by her mouth. She wasn't an obvious beauty, nothing like Daenerys. But there was something remarkably attractive about her.

"Oh hells. There is some poor woman out there who is married to you." Her voice part mocking and partially serious, "Maybe the gods will smile on her and you'll die in this war."

"I don't have a wife." At the moment, but soon he would. She waited for him across the Narrow Sea.

"Too busy plotting a death for thousands of innocents?"

"No. I've never loved a woman before."

"Never? No whore in any brothel good enough for your standards?"

"Quite mouthy, are you not?"

Feeling her blade against his stomach he didn't bother to look down.

"You, are a fool. I could flay you in less than second."

It was a stupid thing to do. But before he knew it he kissed her good and hard, to shut her up before she could insult him further. Catching her mid sentence, his tongue easily entered into her mouth, drawing her close.

The kiss lasted only a moment before Arya came to her senses and pushed him away, trying to catch her balance.

What was he thinking?

He thought of apologizing before she interrupted, threatening, "Come near me again and I'll cut you navel to chin."

Now he be damned if he gave her the satisfaction.

He thought of yelling something after her but didn't. She was yards away before his mouth caught up with his mind and by then it was too late, he'd only look petulant. Watching her quick retreat he couldn't help but smile. If Griff were alive, he would forbid it. Where ever he may be now, rest assured he was scowling.

"Only intrigued, nothing more," he would have told his foster father.

Between her sharp tongue, arrogant attitude and complete distaste for him, it was fair to say that Aegon was annoyed, curious and unequivocally drawn to Arya Stark from the moment he met her.


	9. Somewhere in a Dream

**Jon**

He'd awaken the night before from a dream, long white fingers reaching for him. A warm mouth finding his and a word repeated a dozen times: Jon. Chanted like a prayer, said like a promise, he woke in sweat. His body so tense he felt liked he'd burst.

It was Ygritte he told himself too many times to count: old memories resurfacing from his past. But as he looked across the fire to Arya he knew he was a liar, causing cold heavy feelings of guilt to wash over him.

What would Ned say? What would Robb think? She may no longer be his sister but she was raised as such. Eight years past, she use to run behind him around the grounds of Winterfell, with dirty knotted hair and scrapped knees, begging to play with he and Robb. She was the little girl that leapt into his arms before he left for the Wall, pleading with him to reconsider.

She used to be his sister. But what was she now?

The careless little girl from his memories was gone, in her place a mysterious woman.

He blamed Ghost for these new amoral thoughts. With him curled by her side, ever chance she allowed, following her every movement, silent and watching, Jon felt compelled to do the same. As if he and the wolf were of one brain.

He lay back down, turning his face and body from her and the fire, praying to the Old Gods for forgiveness, understanding and relief.

But found no reprieve from his dreams. In the mornings when he woke, he'd avoid her gaze, carefully choosing his words. Attempting with any spare energy he had to flood his mind with memories of his childhood sister, in an effort to nullify new revelations.

It didn't work. The damage was done. Each time she opened her mouth, she would effortlessly undo any progress he'd made.

Arya Stark was no longer 8 years old. She was no longer his sister. And beyond his own efforts he could no longer see her as such.

Something had changed. His thoughts and sense of sanity unwillingly tethered to her, pulling him in with such force that to fight its inertia was exhausting.

"Please forgive me, Ned," Jon prayed with a confused tongue endlessly throughout their trip to White Harbor.

He never saw it coming. And all the prayers in the world to the Old Gods couldn't save him now. He didn't know it then, but later would clearly see that he would never again be the same.

* * *

**Arya/ Aegon**

It took them almost a week to arrive at White Harbor, the wind beating them back. In that week Arya and Jon had hardly said two words to each other, the tension between them stifling. And with only two horses Arya had limited options. It was either Jon, whom she wasn't speaking to and was also avoiding her like the plague, or Aegon, whom she had threatened. Stubborn, Arya begrudgingly chose Aegon, unwilling to surrender in her silent war with Jon.

Things were so different now. He'd changed and everything he did seemed to bother her, affect her.

"What's the matter with me?" Her mind hissed. Had she no control of her thoughts anymore or her emotions?

Arya scolded herself every time she felt herself caring that they weren't speaking. That he was avoiding her. Was she not assassin? Had she not mastered indifference? The kind Old Man would be disgusted with her involuntary lapse in thoughts.

Caught in the middle of their ongoing silent war, Aegon tried anything to break the unbearable tension.

"What is your wolf's name?" Clearly speaking to Arya, she made no effort to answer him.

Arya and Aegon seemed to have their own game going. He asked questions. She ignored. He continued asking, making up his own answers to suit himself and simultaneously antagonizing her.

"Targaryen? Great name, a little odd, but obviously named for the superior house." Aegon smiled to himself and his lame joke as she stiffened in front of him.

"Nymeria," Jon answered, annoyed with Aegon's apparent attention, Arya stubbornness and his own inability to resolve their issue or his own.

As White Harbor came into sight, Jon sped up, riding slightly ahead and out of earshot.

"Nymeria? No, that won't do. That name will suit until you tell me otherwise."

Also seeing White Harbor, Arya heeled the horse, encouraging it to pick up the pace.

"Where is it? I thought the wolves were your companions. Maybe your husband has been keeping her? How is old Roose?"

Whirling around, Arya answered, "Her name was Aegon-"

"Fine name, must be a stunningly attractive animal. You must miss it warming your bed."

Why he was flirting he didn't know. Mayhaps something to pass the time, break the awkward silence in their group. It was harmless and her reaction served nothing if to not goad him further.

"It was a horribly ugly thing. I smothered it to death," She snapped back.

"With love?" He taunted.

"You disgust me."

Laughing, he placed his hands back on her hips, balancing himself in the saddle," Glad to do something for you."

"Hands!" She warned.

"Come on, I have to hold on to something."

"Hold yourself," she snapped back.

"Now where would be the fun in that?"

"I think it is time for you to walk. We're close enough."

"It is freezing and night is coming."

"Then I suggest you run."

Removing his hands from her hips, he answered, "If I didn't know any better I'd think you were enjoying this."

"About as much as a festering sore."

* * *

**Arya/ Sansa**

She slid from her horse, watching Sansa and Rickon embrace Jon. She felt awkward for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.

"Arya," She could see the tears in Sansa's eyes as she ran to her, pulling her in, kissing her hair.

"I pray to the Seven every day for you to be alive and unharmed. I knew you would find us."

At one and ten, Rickon was more stand-offish and Arya wondered if he even remembered who she was.

"Rickon, come say hello to your sister, Arya."

The boy tentatively approach, unsure how to act.

"Is that a sword?" Pointing to Needle, she saw that maybe they could find a common ground. "Yes. Your brother Jon gave it to me when I was about your age."

Unsheathing the sword, she placed it in his hands, "Do you know how to use one?"

"I've had some training." He swung it about.

"Careful, Rickon." Sansa warned.

"Maybe I will show you how to use it?"

"Please! No one will play with me here."

Looking around, she questioned, "Where's Bran?"

"In the tent. You can see him in a moment. Will you walk with me?"

In six years, Sansa hadn't changed. Only taller, she was still as beautiful as ever, her hair now a darker auburn.

"My horse, I should take it to stable."

"Rickon can do that."

Grabbing her hand, Sansa lead her away, towards the edge of camp.

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

"I guess I should offer felicitations on your marriage."

"Thank you. He is a nice man, honorable."

"You have met him?"

"Yes, mayhaps I will tell you that story some other time. I want to talk to you about mother."

"I know she's dead, as is Robb."

"That is what I wanted to speak to you about. She has passed Arya. Lady Catelyn is dead. But something else has come back in her place. It calls itself Lady Stoneheart."

"She came back? From death?" Arya seemed confused, anxious, "Where is she?"

Taking her arm more firmly Sansa answered, "Arya, you must listen to me. She is not the same. She is unnatural, unfeeling. She is not our mother."

"I want to see her." It had been six years that Arya had thought her mother dead. And although they were never particularly close, she was one of the last links Arya had to her father.

"Arya, you must listen to me. You will not see her. She is not here. She has ridden on to meet with Stannis's men. It wasn't right for her to be here."

"She is our mother."

"That thing is not our mother. It is a dark and hateful creature. "

"Does Jon know? Bran? Rickon?"

"Yes, Jon knows, Bran too. We have not told Rickon. He would not understand. It would be hurtful."

"Why did Jon not tell me?"

"I think, he thought, it would be best from me."

"What have we become? We keep secrets from each other. We lie."

"We do what we have to, to survive, to protect each other." Her face softened, her fingers tracing Arya's cheeks, "You are so different now." Looking down at her britches and tunic she continued, "I see not everything has changed. I knew you would come to us. Bran told us you would."

"Bran? How did Bran know?"

"He's developed a talent, or rather a gift. He has dreams. He dreamt of you."

"Did he dream of Ned? Did he dream of his head falling from his body?" Arya couldn't place why but she was angry, feeling as if the four of them had joined ranks and conveniently left her out.

Sansa flinched, "I do not pretend to know what has happened to you over these past six years or where you have been…. But do not speak of our father this way."

"I will speak as I please. I am not a child." She knew that Sansa was right. She didn't know why she spoke of his death so. It was the only way she could think of it: cold, distant, matter of fact. She should have been embracing Sansa. Thanking the gods that she lived. That Bran and Rickon lived. But she felt betrayed and hurt. They had seemed to form some bound with her gone. She was always the outsider.

"No, you are not. But we are all that is left now. You and I have a responsibility, a duty to protect the boys, to keep us together. It is what they would have wanted: family, duty, honor."

"Winter is coming…"

* * *

**Bran and Arya**

"Arya."

Looking up from the maps sprawled out in front of him, he held up his arms for an embrace.

Arya stood frozen, her eyes locking on Gendry, whom seemed just as surprised and uncomfortable as she. Leveling her gaze, she focused on Bran, embracing him.

"We can go over this later." Rolling the maps, he left without another word. Arya had to force herself to not crane her neck to watch him leave.

"It is so good to see you. I knew you would come."

"Yes, I know."

Reaching for the lamb skin he poured her a glass of wine. Not wasting anytime on sentiments he jumped straight to his point, "This thing between you and Jon, it must end."

"What thing between us?"

"This struggle, go to him and make amends."

"How do you know? Did you dream it?"

Bran shifted, uncomfortably, "So you have heard? No. I did not dream it. Jon told me."

"Did he tell you why?"

"I know why. I know of Jon. I have known for a while."

"Then you know what he plans to do?"

"Yes."

"And you are fine with him dividing us?"

"No. Though I have seen the Others in my dreams. I have seen what will happen if Jon does not act."

"That will not be the end. Have you seen what will happen after? I do not need your gift to know."

"No. I have not seen. I cannot conjure images up on command. It does not work that way. Without the dragons we will all die. There will not be a Westeros."

"So we will stand aside and let death come find us? We will let the war of thrones take us all to an early grave?"

"No, we will play the game today, so that we may see tomorrow. We do what it takes to survive the winter and we will not do it divided. You will go to Jon and reconcile."

"When did you become our leader?"

"The day Jon took the Black and Robb died."

"You are still a child."

"I am four and ten. At this same age Robb rode into battle, became King of the North."

"And died before six and ten, he played the game of thrones and he lost."

"This is our war Arya, whether we chose it or not. It became our war the day Lyanna Stark rode off with Rhaegar Targaryen. We will play the game because we must and we will play it as one."

"The stupidity of love."

With this Bran leaned forward taking Arya hand, "What I say next, I ask as your brother. Be careful with whom you share affection. Do not make the same mistakes that those before us have. Love can be just as dangerous as it is good, Arya."

"What do you know of love? You are still a child."

"I have seen enough to know I am right. Love killed Robb."

"Roose Bolton and the House of Frey killed Robb."

"They may have dealt the blow but a foolish love handed them the sword."

"Why do you say this? I am not in love. Do you give this same speech to Jon and Sansa?"

"No. They are not you, as you are not them. They would not make the same choices that you would. I say this as your brother and as your guardian. With father gone, it is my duty to protect you. You are wild. You have always been. You do not think of consequences before you act."

She patted his head, "You speak as though you have lived a thousand years and died a hundred deaths. I do not need your protection, Bran. I am capable of taking care of myself."

"Still a brat, I see."

Standing she finished, "I have things to attend to. Your worries are misplaced."

Before she could leave he called out, "A foolish love is like a poison. It rots the healthy mind and ravages the body. Go to him now and let it be an end."

* * *

**Gendry and Arya**

"Did you know at the Tavern?"

"Yes."

He had followed her to the stables, slipping in without a sound.

"Why did you not say so? Why did you not stay?"

Unsaddling her horse, she shrugged, "It did not seem important."

Grabbing the saddle from her, he threw it to the ground, "It did not seem important? I spent six years thinking you were dead."

"You must have thought of me often, for you did not even recognize it was me."

His hands ran through his hair in frustration, "I spent six years looking for you in the face of every girl I saw. I spent six years looking for a child with short hair and britches. I was not looking of this," he motioned to her now.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"I expected a girl. Not a woman. Be fair."

"People grow, they get older. They become Lords and Ladies and marry… have children."

She shrugged, "It does not matter now. I am alive and I am tired. So good to see you again Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, felicitations on your marriage. I am sure you will both be very happy."

Arya leaned in, embracing him in haste, wanting to end the whole thing. She wanted to be alone. She needed distance to grieve the end of her childhood thoughts and fantasies. To forget the boy she had spent nights lying awake in the House of Black and White thinking about.

"Let us part as friends again."

She could feel him playing with her hair, twirling the strands around his fingers, "It used to be so short…. I missed you. I dreamt of you a hundred different times, always expecting you to be there when I woke."

"I was a child, ten and you were a practically a man."

"We were both children. That did not make it any less real. It did not make your going hurt any less."

This had been what Bran was talking about. He must have seen this, known that this would happen. But did he know it would hurt this much?

"Now you will be my brother." She leaned away, breaking their embrace but he made no attempt to part, his face still hovering next to hers. "I always wondered what it would be like..." His words lost against her mouth.

It was soft, gentle, but still anything less than innocent.

"Arya, if I knew that you were alive. If I had known that it could be like this…."

"If I told you I missed you as well, it would not have made a difference."

"You missed me?"

"Yes, stupid, I missed you. I dreamt of you as well, but it would not change a thing. You will marry Sansa."

"Is that how your dreams ended?"

"No, but our lives are not dreams."

And with that she walked away, not looking back.

* * *

**Gendry**

**_The leaves crunched underfoot. She stood there waiting for him by the tree._**

"**_What took you so long?"_**

"**_I do not know. How long was I gone?"_**

"**_Too long."_**

**_The little girl took his hand, leading him to the clearing. She pointed in the distance, "Do you see it? That is where they are taking us. We have to hurry or they will catch us. We can leave now."_**

"**_Where are we going?"_**

"**_Home, stupid. You know that."_**

"**_Where is home?"_**

**_She cocked her head, looking at him funny, "Where it has always been. Come with me. Don't leave me this time."_**

"**_Have I left before?"_**

"**_Yes. You keep leaving. I can never find you."_**

"**_Mayhaps it is I, who can never find, you?"_**

**_Her expression changed quickly, her mouth puckered, her eyes wide with anxiety, "Promise you will not leave me this time… let me keep you."_**

"**_Keep me?"_**

"**_Yes, keep you, forever. Promise me. I do not want to be left again."_**

**_She pulled him forward, quickly behind her as they ran._**

"**_They won't find us if we don't separate."_**

"**_Who?"_**

"**_Them…. Stay with me like this and we will never be found."_**

"**_Just you and I?"_**

"**_Yes."_**

"**_Gendry…. Gendry…." A voice called in the distance._**

"**_She found us. Come let us go quick."_**

"**_Who found us?"_**

**_A woman came into the clearing. With dark auburn hair and milky white skin, she called to him again, "Gendry…. Where are you?"_**

"**_That is who we are running from?" _**

"**_Yes and if she finds us, you will have to go again."_**

"**_Gendry, there you are…."_**

"**_Please, hurry…"_**

"**_I can't leave. We're supposed to be here. We should stay."_**

"**_If you stay, I must go. It will never be just you and I."_**

**_The woman reached for him and he was tempted to accept, her presence drawing him in, "I think I am supposed to stay."_**

"**_Then I must leave."_**

**_The little girl left him then, walking back into the forest._**

"**_Arya! Arya!" _**

**_She didn't turn back._**

"Don't go! Don't leave me! I won't stay. I'll come with you."

With that he felt a shake, a hand jolting him awake, "Wake Ser, you are dreaming."

* * *

**Ramsay Bolton**

"Let her run."

Nodding his head, Skinner gave the signal for the men to release "Arya". Dazed, she scrambled forward, tripping over her own feet, looking back unable to see Ramsay.

Dead, Roose was no longer here to curb his amusements. The old fool was found slaughtered in his own bed, throat slit, tongue half hung out of his mouth like a dead rat. It was pathetic. Whoever had done it saved him the time from having to do the duty himself. Kill the old bloated bastard like he did his precious son, Domeric, before him.

Roose had urged him to go back to Hornwood or even Deadfort not weeks before. But Ramsay wasn't stupid enough to run east, like a dog eager for meager table scraps. He was a true Bolton, more so than even his own father. He had vision and knew someday Winterfell would be his. But there would be a few small details to take care of beforehand.

A man had come from the south today, telling tales of a wedding party from the southern lands, a marriage between the older Stark girl, now apparently alive and a Baratheon bastard.

Ramsay's first act official act as Lord would be to bring back the old ways, the traditions of House Bolton. He'd flay the Baratheon's body and mount each appendage to a separate spike outside the walls of Winterfell, while his widow watched.

Then wed the older Stark girl himself.

Leather grinded against gloved hands as the dogs snapped and growled at one another, eager for the hunt.

"She'll get too far, My Lord."

Small minded men, they didn't have the patience for a good victory. They didn't know how to savor anticipation. Most of them didn't have the stomach to truly enjoy this game.

"Wouldn't want to make it too easy for them," Ramsay snickered, kicking the dogs, inciting them further. It had been too long since he'd been able to enjoy this past time. Since Theon Greyjoy's escape there'd been no one to play with.

But soon he'd have a pair, two Stark girls. His cock twitched, at the idea, imagining them both running naked and scared through the forest, hand and hand. Tears streaming down their faced as the dogs snapped at their heels.

"If she gets too far My Lord, she may get lost and freeze," Skinner warned.

Sighing, like a child, Ramsay replied, "Release them."

Crazed, the hounds sprinted forth, darting out into the forest, searching for their chew toy. Mounting his horse, he set out into the Wolfswood with Skinner.

"I hope they don't get her feet too badly."

Skinner looked at him strangely.

"I'd like to play again," Ramsay answered, smirking as he heeled his horse, cock rubbing uncomfortably against his britches. She was a pretty little bitch. He couldn't wait to see her cry.

* * *

**Arya and Gendry**

The fire had burned down, the embers all that was lighting the tent. Alone, she slept in tunic and britches. The furs pushed down to her waist.

"What will we do?" He asked himself, watching her sleep.

Sitting next to her bed roll, he did something that he had been dreaming about for years. Lying on his side in front of the fire, he fit a blanket under his head. Reaching up, he took her hand.

For hours he could have watched her sleep, questioning whether he was still dreaming or if this was now real.

His cold hand slipping into hers woke her immediately. Reaching for her blade, she stopped when she saw him there on the ground.

"What are you doing?"

"Watching you sleep."

"You shouldn't be here."

"I know…" he gripped her hand tighter, "Please, do not ask me to go. Just let me lie here and sleep beside you, like we did so long ago."

"Your hand is cold."

Against her better judgment, Arya stood from her bed, settling herself on the ground next to him. She moved the blanket, pushing it over so that it covered him as well.

He reached out, stroking her face, "Arya, please don't make me let go."

"It won't be that way, ever again."

"I know. I will marry in the morning. Just let me stay here tonight."

A foolish love. Was this what Bran had spoken of? Was this what he ultimately had seen but would not tell her? She did not know and neither did she care as an old familiar feeling fell over them both while they drifted to sleep.

* * *

**Aegon and Jon**

"She can sleep without you watching her."

When Jon had come to Arya's tent, he had come hoping to reconcile. He would make her whatever promises she would need for them to put this behind them. But when he opened her tent to find them there on the ground, hand in hand, asleep, facing each other, he stopped.

What were they doing? Why was he here? As the shock wore off, he knew he should leave. That he was seeing something, although innocent, that was private.

"I know that."

As he stood beside Jon now, peering into the tent, "What is he doing? Should you not move him?"

He didn't know why, but for some reason, Aegon felt a sharp urge to burst into the tent and demand an explanation when he saw her laying next to him. Like her was her father.

"No. Let them be. "

Why did he care? It wasn't any of his business what Arya Stark did, he'd tried reason with himself. But Jon should. Some male from his house should care that she would sleep so intimately with her sister's soon to be husband.

"They don't know each other," he argued weakly.

Did they not? Jon could not see Arya lying so intimately with someone she did not know or care about.

"This is not for our eyes. Let them have this."

"Jon…"

"She would want her privacy. We will leave him."


	10. Two Kinds of Love

**Arya**

The grey morning had become a purple evening, as the sky threatened snow. The only hall in White Harbor was stifling, as soldiers, family and part of the town's people watched the closing moments of the wedding ceremony.

Sansa was waiting for him to make his move, to lean in and kiss her and seal their marriage. Her beauty was undeniable and when she took his hand, he was sure if the circumstances were different he would have felt something other than guilt. Forcing himself to return her smile with similar affection, he stopped himself from finding Arya in the crowd and offering a look of apology.

Arya stood numbed to the service. When a hand found her back, comforting and protective, she looked up hoping to find Jon, regardless of their circumstances.

"Someday that will be you."

Instead she found a pair of violet eyes staring back at her. Under normal circumstances she would have stiffened, shrugged him off, making some snide comment. Not today. Confusion left her at a loss for biting comments.

"No."

"You have no desire to marry?"

"I have no desire to be owned."

Aegon frowned, "Marriage is not always ownership." Thinking of Daenerys, he wanted to say instead, that sometimes it was for mutual interest.

"Is it not?"

"Where I have been many marry for love."

Not like them. Not like he would. But it was possible for two people who were strangers when they wed, to still find affection for one another later. Like his mother and father.

At least he hoped.

"Fools and soon find rack."

"Not all affection ends in ruin."

Looking at Gendry, she answered, "Does it not?"

"Mayhaps you seek love with the wrong one?"

Before Arya could answer that thought, they were interrupted.

"If I did not know better, I would think you were the ghost of Lyanna Stark."

Stannis' eyes were cold and cutting as he peered down at her.

"This is Arya Stark, Stannis." Coming from behind, Jon was quick to intervene.

Stepping back, Aegon looked at Arya this time with an inspecting eye. Memories of all the things Old Griff had once said about Lyanna coming back. So this had been what Lyanna Stark looked like? This had been what had driven his father to death without conscience? Somewhere Old Griff was surely clearing her throat in stern warning.

"The little wolf lives. Tell us, where have you been all these years and with what company?" He threw a suspicious look Aegon's way.

"Stannis this is Syrio, my counsel man of from the Watch."

"Blue hair…" He seemed to ponder Aegon's strange appearance.

"Lord Baratheon, I have meant to speak to you about business at the Wall. May I have a moment of your time?"

* * *

**Arya and Aegon**

She could feel Sansa's eyes on her and Arya knew she was waiting for her to approach their table, to offer her congratulations. She couldn't make herself move.

"Earlier, I hardly recognized you."

Seating himself next to her, she knew his voice before she turned to look, "Yes, we all have our parts to play, dear Syrio."

"Dear Syrio? I rather like that."

She wrinkled her nose.

"No, " he held up his hand, "don't retract it."

"Can you not go pester some other woman?"

"Strange, usually it is women that pester me."

His self admiration was nauseating.

"How does it feel to be disliked so?"

"I do not think of it because I know this is an act."

"You are the most self-important, obnoxious man I have ever met."

"You must not know many. Most find my company to be pleasing."

"It saddens me that you think yourself charming."

"And why is that?"

"It means you're a greater fool than I thought."

With every snarky word that came out of her mouth, he found himself only wishing all that more to prove her wrong. He'd never in his life had a woman be so blunt with him. It was strangely refreshing.

Ignoring her usual icy banter, his hand found her lower back, his thumb tracing her spine through the dress, "I rather like you like this…"

"Nauseated by you?"

It was inappropriate, this little game that he was playing with her. He may not been wed yet, but it was an inevitability. Daenerys had something he needed and he was someone that stood in her way to power. To jeopardize that would be to put everything at risk.

However, at some point being around Arya became less of a source of amusement and more a subconscious compulsion. His words were hot on her ear, "No. Soft, in a dress… unarmed. You look beautiful."

Of all the things she had ever been called, beautiful was not one. The hairs on her neck stood on end.

"I am confident that someday you will not think so terribly of marriage."

"And why is this?"

He paused for a moment, his voice serious, "Because I could not own you unless you wanted me to."

"Bedding, Bedding!" The men cried out, as the bedding ceremony began. The crowd began to separate. His strange words still swam around in Arya head, as she was pushed with the minor female crowd from the hall towards the bridal tent.

Still sitting at the table while she was herded from the room, he wished more than anything that by duty, he didn't feel compelled to take back what he'd just said. Aegon wished he wasn't still wondering why she was sleeping with Stannis Baratheon's nephew the night before. He needed to stay focus on the task ahead instead of wasting thoughts on someone he shouldn't be thinking about and would never be with.

He needed to find Jon, so he could get as far away from this place and that woman as fast he could. But Jon was difficult to find these days, isolating himself. Seemly preoccupied with something he was unwilling to talk to Aegon about.

* * *

**Arya and Gendry**

Their small hands clawed at the cloak, ripping it from the binding. They pulled at his tunic, lifting it over his head. Reaching for his britches, pulling at the laces, he called out, "My Ladies! My ladies! I thank you for your assistance. I can handle matters from here."

Hovering outside the tent, Arya attempted to leave the ritual as the women filtered by when an arm grabbed her, pulling her in. His bare chest stared back at her.

"Arya…"

"I should go."

"Arya, look at me."

They could hear the male party nearing. He took her hand, bringing it to his cheek, kissing her palm.

"I will love her as if she were you."

Letting go, Arya answered, "Love her because she is your wife."

Slipping out of the tent, she narrowly missed the male wedding party, carrying Sansa who had been stripped to her small clothes. Not looking back, she headed straight for the forest as the snow began to fall.

* * *

**Arya and Jon**

With her hand wrapped around the trunk of the tree, she leaned against it for support. Her body bent forward, her chest quickly contracted as she tried to control herself.

The snow had coated her hair in a white sheet. From the look of it, he knew she had been here for some time.

She would fight him. As soon as he called to her, she'd try to pretend she wasn't crying. She'd want to be left alone. But he couldn't.

"Arya…"

She immediately stopped, straightening her shoulders, "I'm fine, Jon. I will come back in just a moment."

It had been the first time she had really spoken to him in days.

As he continued to approach she yelled, "Leave please!"

Grabbing her arm, he pulled her to him, cradling her beneath his chin. And at first she fought, pushing back, trying to free herself from his grasp and sympathy. The only thing worse than crying, was someone feeling sorry for you. But the harder she fought, the closer he held her until she stopped.

They stood for minutes like that, in silence while she stopped trying to pretend. Jon couldn't remember the last time he had seen Arya cry. Even as a child it was a rare event.

"Arya, sometimes things have to be done. They are not things that we want."

He couldn't find the words. Too many things he wanted to say. Things he'd been thinking for days, for two weeks, since finding her. But he couldn't get them out. Finally he settled for, "Do you love him?"

She didn't answer at first. She tried to pretend she didn't hear and he thought of saying something new, when she whispered, "I don't know."

She was overwhelmed with a feeling of immense loss. Coming back, stirred things in her that she hadn't felt in years. Her friend was gone, along with her sister. They were dividing again. Still there was no place for her.

"Arya, love it a difficult thing. Sometimes its something that is instant and other times it takes a long time to grow. The first kind, instant love… it's intense and painful. That isn't really love, its lust. The other kind, the kind that grows... the kind that Lady Catelyn and Ned had, that is the kind that lasts. That is the kind of love you want."

"We traveled together on the King's Road. We escaped from Harrenhal together. Then he left me, joined the Brothers Without Banners. I was just a child."

"Arya, it is hard to lose the people we care about. Sometimes, a thing isn't meant to be."

"I don't know how I feel. Have you ever loved someone?"

Jon thought on this question for a long time. Had he ever loved Ygritte? No. That wasn't love he had decided long ago. That was surely lust. The only time he had ever felt love was for this. It was a feeling of pride, worry, joy and warmth. But now those feelings had changed. The bond they had always had, now different. So many years ago he left the family, a little girl he loved, in the court-yard of Winterfell and headed north. Now Robb was dead, along with Ned. And she was gone forever. He'd never get her back.

In her place was a woman, who was part stranger but still familiar. And all he felt was nervous.

He was excited, jealous, guilty and scared. Oh, how he was scared. Scared that what he was feeling was wrong. That someone would see right through him. That she would know the truth and then turn from him.

He was scared that she would leave him again and that this time it would be permanent.

He had tried to reason with these feelings for weeks. He told himself that it was yearning for the little girl he loved and missed. But he knew it was more than that. When Jon saw her, he didn't feel the way a brother should towards his foster sister.

His jealousy every time Aegon looked at her and how she might have felt for Gendry. Those weren't brotherly feelings. He wanted her. The way men were supposed to want women.

"I think so...yes. "

"What does love feel like, Jon?"

"I don't know how to describe it. There are too many feelings at once."

"Was it the first kind or the second?"

"Both."

"Did you get over it? Did it pass?"

"I don't know."

"Did you want it to pass?"

"I don't know."

"What was she like?"

Jon sighed, "Beautiful. Difficult... Wrong."

"Wrong?"

She glanced up at him, "Why?"

He wiped the wet trail running down her cheek, "Its complicated."

Arya didn't know how to feel about anything anymore. Everyone was different and none of it could ever be the same. Her head was swimming as she kept sensing something she couldn't explain.

"You never came." She answered at last.

"When his head hit the ground, I could hear the blade pass through his neck. The world stopped. They cheered. And everything went silent. I disappeared, " she was ashamed to admit it but did anyhow, "I wanted someone to find me. No one ever came."

"I could not leave the Wall. You know that. If I could have come, I would have. I would have found you."

"Would you? No. I found you."

"You did."

She pushed back finally, stepping into the tree, "I will not again. If you leave you'll be lost to me."

"Arya, I have to go."

"It will never be the same, Jon."

"I'm sorry."

"Take me with you."

"I cannot."

"If I was a man would you take me?"

Jon knew the answer was yes. If she were a man however he wouldn't have these strange new thoughts of her. She couldn't come. He needed her to be someplace where he wouldn't have to worry. But mostly he needed distance. He had to go before he did something he could never take back.

"No. I have to do this alone, with Aegon. It's what I'm meant to do."

It should have been wrong. She didn't know what she was thinking. Maybe it was the thought of being left. Maybe it was the idea of being forced to go Storm's End with Sansa and Gendry and suffer in silence. But it could have just been the idea of him going that drove her to do it.

For some reason she hoped he would change his mind. Maybe he would consider taking her, understanding that they shouldn't be separated. No matter how at war with each other they might have been.

Without thinking, she lunged forward. And for the first time, she kissed a man. Not considering the consequences and how it would change their relationship forever. She pressed her mouth against his.

Surprised, he froze. But before his better judgment could reason with him and Jon could question if what they were doing was wrong, he was kissing her back. She opened her mouth, begging him to comply and their tongues were touching, her hands wandering. They gripped his cloak, shoulders, neck and finally his hair. Her nails scratched along his scalp, tugging at him.

When he touched her hips, he thought of pushing her away and explaining how this wasn't right, that they should consider what they were doing. But it only served to encourage her fervor further as she leaning into him, kissing him harder.

Suddenly Jon was back.

Stepping away, his hands were raised in defense, "Arya…"

The kissed that she had started, was done so as a desperate plea not to be left. It wasn't intended to be sexual but then it was. When he kissed her back and touched her, she felt something that she'd only felt a few times before. Her hands shook with adrenaline.

"Take me with you. I'll go anywhere. Do not send me with them."

"I cannot."

"If you do not I will run. I will leave and go back to Braavos."

"No you won't." He wasn't sure how he knew. She could have left at anytime just as easily as him and secretly this had been what he feared most. But now, after their kiss, he sensed that she wouldn't.

"Jon," she didn't know what she was going to do. But she wanted the feeling back. She wanted to feel warm, safe, nervous, excited. She moved in to kiss him again. But he stepped away.

"I need to get back."

Turning, he walked as fast as he could, putting as much distance between them as possible. Trying to keep himself from turning back and letting her do what she wanted. What he wanted.


	11. God of Wisdom and Honor

**Stannis and Asha**

"You will go to Dragonstone. You will stay there until I send word otherwise."

Asha sat in silence, barely listening to Stannis. Her face and neck were peppered with bruises from his last attempt to mate with her. Their fight for control so laced with contempt that their sex was just as vicious as their thoughts of each other.

"If you try to run back to that shitty little island I will know. All prayers in the world to your Drowned God will not stop me from setting fire to everything you once knew."

"_What is dead may never die…" she thought._

Grabbing her face, she stopped herself from wincing, "Do you hear me wife?"

"Yes."

* * *

**Sansa and Gendry**

"My Lord."

They had dumped her there before him, almost naked and nervous.

"My Lady."

They stood there for a few seconds before she came to him. Pressing her hands against his chest, she smiled tentatively up at him, "May I kiss you?"

In the minutes that followed there was the hesitant pealing of last layers. And when they found themselves on the bed, him hovering above her, he knew now that she was scared.

"I will not hurt you."

"Promise?"

Could he make that promise? Would he be able to promise that every time he saw her face he would not be thinking of Arya? The girl he would never have.

"Yes, My Lady."

"You need not call me that. Call me, Sansa."

"Sansa, I will not hurt you. I will love you," (in his mind, "As I loved your sister so dearly.")

And with take he took her slowly and with as much affection that he had once foolishly hoped to share with Arya.

* * *

**Arya**

As Arya stood in the woods she wondered what she had possibly done. Was he mad? Was he disgusted with her? Would Jon never speak to her again? No. He had kissed her back with as much fervor as she, him.

The wedding, the war, the Others faded into the background. Arya was not weak. She was not pathetic and she most certainty would not consider herself obedient. The only solution was to fight. A chant started in her mind, a singular rhythm that screamed, "Stay with Jon. Stay with Jon. Stay with Jon."

They couldn't be separated. No matter the outcome. This world would fall to fire but it would do so with them standing together, fighting side by side till they both choked to death on the ash.

"Stay with Jon. Stay with Jon. Stay with Jon." The chant beat on.

How would she stay with Jon? He said he would not take her before and surely wouldn't now. Not the way he had just looked at her, as if she were foreign, poisonous.

"Stay with Jon. Stay with Jon."

She would need to find another way. She would need to find a weakness in their plan, an ally. She would need to find Jon's weakness.

She would need to find Aegon.

Yes, she would go to him and convince him to take her with them. How would she do that?

She swallowed hard. Arya would have to give something in exchange. Something he wanted. She knew what he wanted. Her eyes closed. Could she make herself do it?

"Stay with Jon." The chant's whispers clouded her consciousness.

Yes, she would do whatever it took. She would trade one of the two things Jaqen had used to drawn Arya back from the brink of being No One for forever. One, she would never lose. Only death would separate her from being a Stark. The other was neither here nor there.

* * *

**Arya and Aegon**

When she entered the tent, she was thankful that he was gone, probably checking on Bran and Rickon, packing their things for the morning, seeking the company of Ghost, walking endlessly throughout the night as he sometimes did.

Sitting by the fire, he turned, expecting someone else, "Jon, I have sent a raven-"

"He's not here."

"I know." Wrapped tight in a cloak she dropped the hood, snow flaking to the ground.

"I came to speak with you."

Aegon stood, his eyes suspiciously scanning her.

"Yes... and what is it that you wish to speak of?"

"Tomorrow, I will not be riding south with my sister. I want to go with you and Jon. "

"This is not possible."

"It is not possible or you are not willing?"

"Why not ask Jon?" He countered.

Before she could answer, he finished, "He has already said no."

"Now I ask you."

Aegon's hand found his chin, rubbing at the beginnings of what would be stubble. "Why do you ask this? What motivated you to come to me?"

"I need an ally." The words felt bitter in her mouth. She had said she would never seek his friendship or help and now she was swallowing her own promises.

"You have spoken that you wish for us to be friends."

He smiled now. "You wish now to seek my friendship? You have it. However you cannot go with us. It is dangerous."

"I have something you want..." the words were again sticking in the back of her throat. Her heart slammed against her chest. "I would be willing to trade. If you let me travel with you and Jon, I will give it to you."

This peaked Aegon's interest, "Something I want?"

Arya closed her eyes, mustering up every ounce of sensuality she had seen in those streets of Braavos. Any that had been crafted in those years she worked for the House of Black and White.

She steadied her hands, as she reached for the clasp at her neck. She could not believe she was doing this. That this had been what she was reduced to: selling sex for favor. But this was what she had. Killing Aegon would accomplish nothing and he would not be threatened. She would have to bind him in alliance the way that women had tried to bind men for thousands of years.

She steadied her breath. She prayed to the old gods that wherever her father was now he couldn't see this. And if he could, he would understand. She asked forgiveness from her mother's soul.

"Stay with Jon. Stay with Jon. Stay with Jon." The chant fell over her in a soft, steady pace, reminding her of her purpose.

Watching her there, with her hair shinning from where snow had settled earlier, he could see that she was unsure of how to proceed. He could see that she was debating something internally.

Then as soon as the look came over her, it passed. She had made her decision. Unclasping the cloak, it hung from her shoulders for a moment before it fell as she shrugged it off. Pooling at her feet, she was left in only a thin dark shift.

If Aegon had been confused before, intrigued, there was nothing to describe what happened next. His mouth went dry, the moister being sucked from his lips and out his throat.

For as intimidating as she could be with a sword, she was even more intimidating now. Her confidence only shadowed slightly by her innocence. She looked carnal, lethal and fragile.

"I will give you want, for the promise that I will go with you both."

She was offering him something that no sane man would turn down. Aegon wouldn't call himself the most honorable of men. He had killed and would do it again. He was ambitious and single minded. He would take the Iron Throne that had been stolen from him.

He'd burn home, stock, man, woman and even child if he had too. He would form and break whatever alliance needed and would hold loyalties to no one other than the two dragons. But this was something he wasn't sure he could do.

When he didn't answer she stepped forward. He hardly had time to think before her hand had pressed to his chest, gently pushing him back to the chair behind him. Looking up, the back lighting of the fire made what was underneath her gown clearly visible. His mind clouded, his words dropping into some dark abyss where they would never be retrieved.

When she bent to him, her hair coming down like a curtain around him with grey eyes locking him in, he was sure he had heard tales from Griff about creatures like this, females that would visit men in their waking hours, their beauty overwhelming, their scent intoxicating. In these stories the female demons would suck the souls from men, leaving them withered corpses before they could think to protest.

As her mouth hovered close to his face, her breath was hot when her lips softly grazed his. At that moment, Aegon didn't care whether she killed him or not. Bending further she settled at his feet. On her knees she perched herself slightly between his legs with hands resting on his calves.

"Do we have a deal?"

In all of her overwhelming sexuality, he wasn't sure how he had found a way out of his blinding lust. It must have been the Seven that called to him or some other unknown god of wisdom and honor. Sitting there, waiting for his answer, she looked like a dream he hadn't even known he'd had. But in all her confidence, through her convincing act, he could still see the innocence she was trying so hard to hide. And it was that which finally brought him back.

"No." It slipped from his mouth so quietly he wasn't sure if he had even said it.

"What?"

"No." He said louder this time.

She backed away from him, confused.

As he rose to meet her, he knew he shouldn't say it. It was wrong for him to make such a confession, no matter how true, "It's not that I do not desire you. I do..."

He stopped shortly before her. Bending, he took her cloak from the ground, "Just not like this." He should be answering not ever, if he was honest with himself.

Arya had a strong desire to die at that very moment. How could she have been so wrong?

Clutching the cloak against her chest, he could see that she was clearly embarrassed. He had a responsibility to wed Daenerys, to take back Westeros and be the man that Jon Connington raised him to be.

The only problem was when he saw Daenerys he didn't feel this way. And yes, maybe someday he could. But someday felt like too long to wait.

"Arya, mayhaps there is someone I should be asking…" What was he thinking?! The rationale part of his mind was frantically trying to stop the words from coming out. But illogical part of him, the one that didn't listen to Jon Connington when he told him his brother was dead, or to propose marriage to Daenerys, was quickly thwarting those efforts. Pushing out rushed, rambling sentences, "I know things are difficult right now. But, I…"

She was so young. Arya couldn't have been any more than six and ten. But Westerosi women wed young, most betrothed before three and ten.

Jon would kill him. He was so protective of Arya. Hopefully he would understand.

"Would you consider-"

Calls could be heard in the distance, shouting. Before Aegon could finish someone burst into the tent.

"Aegon, grab our things."

Jon's words fell short as he found them. Eyes wide, Arya stood practically naked next to Aegon. Silent, neither needed to offer an explanation. It was clear what he had walked into.

Jon could feel the bile rising in his throat. He almost doubled over retching right there.

"Ramsay Bolton has been spotted riding with over a two hundred men. They will be here in minutes."

His eyes flashed to Arya, "Dress yourself, now."

"Jon-"

"Now, Arya! They will be here soon."

Taking her cloak, she wrapped it around her shoulders, leaving the tent to find her clothes and sword.

"Jon-"

"We must leave now, head out in front of the men. When she comes back, tell her to go to the stables. I'll gather the others."

* * *

"I won't go. I will be Lord of Winterfell. I'm staying with the men."

"Bran, please!" Grabbing the reins of the horse, Sansa tried to plea with him. "We won't divide. I won't lose another brother."

"I won't lose Winterfell."

"Where is Arya?" Walking into the middle of their argument, Jon and Aegon's eyes both searched the stable.

Saddling her horse, she answered, "Here, Bran you will stay. Only a Lannister runs from a battle and we are not Lannisters."

"Sansa, get on your horse. You will not stop riding till you hit the River Lands. Rickon you will ride with Arya." Jon instructed.

"No he won't."

Helping Sansa into her saddle, he stopped at Rickon, "And why is that?"

"I'm not going with them. I am riding on to the field."

"You will not!" Aegon called out.

Grabbing her face in his hands, Jon looked her square in the eyes, "Listen to me. We do not have time. You will go with Sansa and Rickon. You will guide them south to Storm's End. You will not turn back no matter what happens. They need you to protect them. Promise me, Arya."

She stood there stiff, her mind screaming, "Stay with Jon. Stay with Jon. Fight or die."

He shook her, "Promise me! I cannot take them myself. They will die on the road without you. Protect them. Promise me. Promise me you will ride to Storm's End. Promise me that you will stay safe!"

She had never seen him so agitated and scared, "I promise."

The sounds of cries could be heard with the clashing of metal.

"They're here. You must go. Now!"

Grabbing the reins, Arya mounted her horse.

"Rickon." With his arm extended to her, she reached for him, pulling him in front of her.

"Arya?" His voice shook.

"Quite, child." She pressed him against her chest, tucking his head under her chin. "No harm will come to you."

Behind Sansa, she gave one last look to Jon before spurring the horse out of the stable.

* * *

**Jon and Aegon**

Riding out on to the open fields Jon couldn't make out their figures ahead of them in the night, but knew they were there, riding south.

Turning east, they rode for hours before their pace slowed.

"We will be there in a day. Did you send a raven?"

"A ship is waiting at Widow's Watch."

A silence fell over them again. The awkward tension, whose source they had yet to mention.

"Jon, what you saw-"

"You may be my brother but you will never touch her that way again. I have tolerated your infatuation but I will not-"

"I intend to marry her, Jon." He had yet to say out loud even to himself, only thought it close to a hundred times in few hours alone. And now it was real, scaring and relieving him all at once.

"What did this mean? What about Daenerys?" The ghost of Old Griff hissed in the back of his mind.

"Arya? Marry?" Jon scoffed. She would never marry. He did not know Arya as Jon did. She couldn't be tamed. She wouldn't be controlled.

"I will marry your sister, Jon. I'm as sure of it as I am that we will sit on the Iron Throne again."

Arya would never marry. She would never allow anyone to take her freedom. There was nothing or no one that she could ever love more than that. But to try to explain the complexities of the little girl he knew and the woman he feared now was too much. Instead he settled for the simple truth, "She's not my sister."


	12. Yes, Today

**Margaery Tyrell**

Looking out the window of the Sept of Baylor she smiled as her maids perfumed her hair and rubbed rose oil on her skin.

Slowly, Cersei was losing her grip on Tommen. Her husband was young and weak. A skittish boy of four and ten, he needed someone to disciple him and Margaery was determined she'd be the one to do it.

Four years past she was exonerated by the Seven, cementing her as Cersei's primary enemy. Since, they had divided into two camps, plotting against the other, waiting with passive aggression for a moment of weakness, an opportunity to strike.

Years ago, she'd hoped for nothing more than to marry Renly and give him as many children as he and her grandmother pleased. Now, she'd all but forgotten such silly childhood fantasies and instead focused only on surviving. It was her or Cersei, one of them would have to go. And Margery had come too far to bow out now.

She'd be queen and control the Seven. Even if she had to crawl over Cersei's dead, blotted body to do so.

"That's enough," she instructed, waving the women away and out of her chamber as a knock sounded on the solar door.

Entering, Tommen nervously looked to the ground as Margaery's shift slipped from her shoulders. "You asked to see me?"

A mother's hold was a feat to compete with. But a wife's affections were impossible for a fourteen year old boy to deny. If Margery couldn't talk Cersei out of her husband's ears, she'd fuck her out. If she couldn't scare the Lannisters out of King's Landing, she'd breed them out.

"I'm ready to fulfill my wifely duties," she answered, sliding her shift over her hips, letting it pool on the floor.

Tommen looked up, his eyes bulging, face turning red. He'd been too young before and now too nervous to speak or move.

"Mi-I- Mi Lady-"

"Shh…" taking his hand, she placed it on her breast, nipping at her young husband's ear. "Let me be a good wife."

Leading the way, she took her innocent husband to bed for the first time and made sure he returned, each night after.

He was a sweet boy, too kind for his own good. Their relationship whether he was aware or not, was an exchange of services. He was a young, naive boy, looking for direction and she was an ambitious woman, willing to do anything to lead.

* * *

**Jon/ Aegon/ Dany**

(Months prior)

"I'm not going to the Wall."

"We agreed." Jon stood from the table, "This is what we came here for."

"No, you came here to seek your birth right. This is your birth right."

"This is not a game!" Slamming his fist on the table, he looked to Aegon for support.

"Jon, we have not received word of any changes from the Wall." He felt an instinctive pull to take Jon's side, even if it was counter intuitive to their plan.

"You know they are coming, Aegon. Do not be blinded by power."

"We will go to Dragonstone. From there we can mount an attack on the King's Landing."

"You never had any intention of protecting the Wall." Jon looked now to Aegon, "Are you so blinded by the idea of power, an idiot's crown, that you have forgotten what is coming?" His words stung. Although true, it was difficult to hear from his brother's mouth. He was a traitor. True at some point he did intend to help him in his quest to protect the Wall. But there were greater things at hand. This was their chance. The opportunity they had been waiting for. Why couldn't he understand that? They could still do both.

"What do you think will happen when we land at the Wall with our dragons and wait for your White Walkers? How long do you think it will take for Stannis to gather his forces or for the Lannisters to send troops? They would outnumber us ten to one before we could even gather an army." Daenerys calmly answered.

Placing his hand on Jon's shoulder, Aegon continued, "Jon. If they hear of dragons, where will they go? Who will they find first to use against you? What will happen to those at Storm's End? How will we get to them if we are at the Wall without an army?"

It was a low blow, but Aegon knew where to strike.

"What do you think the queen mother would do if she got her hands on Rickon, Sansa or Arya?"

"You can go to the Wall. See for yourself that they are not coming with an army. Then you will come to meet us." Dany reached across the table to her nephew.

In the months that the three of them had spent in each other's company, they had rapidly grown close. Aegon and Dany seemed to stand by each other, singular in thought. Like a brother and sister.

Jon, as always, was the outsider. He was hovering on the edge of their little group: unsure whether to join or perish alone.

Dany had met few men like Jon. Quiet, he seemed to be unmoving in his pursuit to uphold some oath that he had taken, before he knew the truth. He seemed to be a man of conviction impermeable to the lust for power.

"And if the situation has worsened, if they are breathing on the gates of the Wall?"

"Then we will come. There will be no Iron Throne if Westeros falls to darkness from beyond the Wall."

"We need to strike now. We have the element of surprise. The throne is weak. The realm doubts the boy King's true paternity. The royal forces are dwindling as Stannis raises an army, if he finds another ally. If we wait too long the fight will be impossible."

Sarcastically Jon retorted, "Stannis defeat the dragons? I thought they were immune to defeat."

"We cannot burn all of Westeros to take the throne. There will be nothing left," Daenerys coolly answered.

* * *

**Arya and Sansa**

Alone she sat in the field, facing east. Pulling at the grass, she split the blade into strands, throwing it to the wind.

"You've been here for some time."

Sitting beside her, Sansa continued, "You are unhappy- restless. You have been moody for months."

Arya didn't answer, only reached for another blade of grass.

"Is it so horrible here? Is this place such a prison?"

Grabbing her hand, Sansa stopped her, "I wish you did not feel so. I have news for you."

"Yes and what is that?"

"I'll have a child. I wanted you to be the first to know."

Arya couldn't say that she was surprised. This is what happened when two people married and shared a bed. She had known it was coming at some point.

She didn't want to be part of this moment. Arya didn't want to stand by and watch others settle into happiness, while she still chocked on emptiness. Her mind drifted for moments trying to think of the last time she didn't feel empty. If she ever believed she could be like Sansa.

"I know."

"You know what?"

"I know of your affections for one another."

Arya didn't answer. She wouldn't deny that she had great affection for Gendry. She always would. He was part of the last piece of childhood she had. He made up some of her last memories of innocence.

"I see the way he looks at you. I see the way you avoid him, mayhaps that cannot be helped. However, I ask that you do not sleep with my husband. You may both love-"

"I do not love Gendry. I do not love."

"You love… you love your family," Sansa stopped and thought on this. Did Arya love them? She honestly didn't know. In the past four months she was so distant and cold. She treated them as if they were strangers holding her captive.

"You love Jon."

"_Stay with Jon. Stay with Jon."_ Her mind repeated the chant that haunted her. The one thing she felt she was supposed to always do. The only thing she was sure of and she had failed.

Finally, she answered, "Why love when everything goes? Nothing good can stay."

Sansa touched her stomach, "You've let bitterness take your joy. There is still good in this world."

Sansa had always been naïve and always would be, no matter the circumstance or what she'd seen. Arya envied this. Sansa was impermeable to desolation. She would always believe that honorable men stayed honorable. Good prevailed over evil. A prince would come to her rescue and that happiness could someday be lasting.

She felt as though she was sinking slowly into darkness. She had been for years: the vast emptiness taking her piece by piece. But lately she was no longer sinking. Now drowning, her head struggled to stay above water. If she didn't move soon it would take her completely and she'd be too numb to care.

"I'm leaving tomorrow. I'm riding to Winterfell."

* * *

**Sansa and Gendry**

She knocked briefly on the doors of his chamber.

"Come in."

Entering the room, she found him perched at the window. "Is something wrong?"Gendry rose from his seat, concern on his face.

"No. I wanted to speak with you."She pointed to a chair, "Sit please."

"What has happened?"

"Nothing. I was hoping you would come to my chambers but you have not for some time."

Gendry looked down, his face almost reddening with guilt. "I have been busy."

_Lies. Lies. Lies_. Sansa's sensibility sang. "_You've been busy thinking of her_," she wanted to say, but wouldn't.

"I'll have a child." She blurted it out before the other things darting around in her mind fell out of her mouth, ruining the moment.

Gendry looked up now, surprised. Why was he surprised? Isn't that what happened when you lie with a woman? Is that not what was expected of them?

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She smiled and he could clearly see that she was happy and would expect him to feel the same.

"That's wonderful."

Stooping, he kissed the top of her head.

"I know about you two." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"What?"

"I know about your feelings for Arya…"

Gendry had worried that someday this moment would come, that they would be forced to have this conversation. Had Arya said something? Had he given it away? He had tried to keep his distance, since arriving home three months prior. He had thought he was careful with his glances, sparing with his words.

"I can see it in your face every time she enters the room and I do not care. I do care, however, that you do not make a fool of me."

"What?" Gendry was still taken back from her original admission.

"You do not have to love me. If you wish to take other women, I cannot stop you. I ask though, that you do not take-"she faltered now. Sansa had been brave to this point and attempted to stay unemotional, but suddenly her words had finally caught up to her mind.

"D-do not lay with her."

How was Gendry supposed to answer this? Deny his feelings for Arya? Deny that he loved her? That he missed her still? Lie about the fact that he did change every time she entered a room? Could he deny that he had to fight the urge to crawl to her chambers every night, slip in and lie on the floor next to her bed, that he dempt of her still?

"I would not."

Sansa seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, "We could be happy. Maybe with Arya leaving for awhile, we could work-"

"Arya is leaving?"

"She is returning to Winterfell."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Sansa, she cannot ride alone on the road. It's dangerous. She could be killed."

"Do you think I do not know this? She will not listen-"

Before Sansa could finish, Gendry was gone, heading for Arya's chambers. When he reached the door, he pounded for seconds with no response.

"Arya, I know you are in there. You cannot do this. You cannot ride to Winterfell. It is not safe. If you wish to leave…"

He pushed the door open to find an empty room.

* * *

**Asha**

"They are coming!"

Screams seemed to reverberate throughout stone walls. People ran everywhere like ants scrambling from dirt hill.

"The men are armed, My Lady."

"Do not call me that." Rising from her seat, Asha looked out the window. Huge beasts circling the skies as an army approached.

"Saddle a horse."

"Lady Baratheon…?"

She looked to the guard, "Asha Greyjoy. Saddle a horse I will ride to meet them- alone."

* * *

**Dany and Asha**

The beasts were the size of ships. Landing in the field outside the gates, smoke billowed from their mouths. Dismounting one, a woman, tiny in stature with long white hair approached, drawing her weapon.

Dismounting herself, Asha approached the woman alone.

"Do you come to fight?"

Asha stood unarmed, as she replied, "No. I come to negotiate."

"Who are you to negotiate?"

"Lady Baratheon," Asha said with clear disgust.

Deanery's looked amused, "Why should I negotiate, when I can clearly take what I want?"

"Because I will give you something else."

"And what is that?"

"You can have Dragonstone. We will not fight. The men will stand down. Also, ships from the Iron Islands and men. Something Stannis Baratheon won't have when he comes to take the Iron Throne from you."

Dany cocked an eyebrow, "Yes and what would you like in return?"

"Two things: kill my twat of a brother and sever my dear husband's head from his body."

Asha was no one's fool. She didn't need the Dragon woman. She didn't need anyone. But what she did need was time, time to figure out how she could kill both her brother, husband and any other enemy who would stand in her way.

* * *

**Arya**

The men could see the figure approaching on horse, staggering through the icy wind.

"Who approaches?" They called into the wind and snow, drawing their weapons.

The figure continued toward them without word. When the horse finally slowed the man grabbed for the reins. His hand pricked metal and drops of blood fell to white beneath his feet.

"Don't touch what is not yours."

Sliding from the saddle, she moved to uncover furs from her face.

"A wildling whore?"

His eyes gleamed at the prospect, his tongue smacking against his yellow teeth.

"Take me to your commander."

"Feisty one, aren't you?" The two men circled her like starved dogs in a pack.

When the one who spoke, lunged for her, she ducked taking him from behind, a knife to his throat.

"Should we continue to play this game?"

The man wheezed as the blade pressed against him.

"Take me."

The other man led her into Castle Black. Opening the door he motioned for her to enter. Still holding her prisoner, she shook her head, "You first."

Following him through, over five hundred men peered up from their meals, mouths full. Their faces shocked, angered, then sneering. Names were called from the crowd and lewd suggestions made. Pulling the man in tighter as a shield, she yelled, "Where is your commander?"

Allister Thorne stood in the back of the massive hall, "I am here. And who are you?"

"Where is Jon Snow?"

"Knee deep in tits and wine… if not dead for deserting. Who are you?"

Arya looked about the room into the faces of a five hundred men and saw one thing: lust, angry, lonely, desperate, ravenous lust. The lamb had wandered into the lion's den without a plan.

"Your name!"

"Arya Stark."

"Stark? Does you lord brother know you are here?"

"Yes," she lied.

"Release the man."

Arya tightened her grip, "No."

"Look around woman. There is one of you and many of us."

"You will not hurt me."

"Will we not? Who would know? Who would stop us? Your lame lord brother, who does not know you are here? Jon Snow? Release him."

"I'll take my chances."

A few men stood in challenge and others, maybe one, to her aide.

"You'll not leave alive, woman."

Arya was running out of options. Amongst men that were thieves, criminals and without the company of a woman for years, she knew that a vow of chastity was unlikely to hold them.

"Let me join."

"Women do not take the black."

"And why is that?"

"We have no use for whores. You would be easily killed, if not by us, than out there."

"If I proved myself?"

This made the commander laugh, "The only way you will be useful is on your back."

"Or on your knees," another suggested.

"You are weak, female and have never killed."

Arya could feel her dodgy captive. His brave hands reached back, trying to feel her through her layers. He was now confident that he would live and possibly have her first.

Without thinking she slit his throat, his choking corpse hitting the ground in front of her.

"You were saying?"

The commander moved through the men toward her, "You killed an innocent man."

"He would have raped me if given the opportunity." She noted emotionlessly.

Those already standing moved towards her, but were short of the commander who got there first. Falling back into a few men behind, she was trapped. With his knife at her throat, he breathed, "You wish to stay unharmed. It will not happen. You wish to leave unharmed. You will not."

He went to grope at her.

"Should I tell you what happened to the last man that tried to rape me?"

She looked down to the dead man still at her feet and then he felt the blade against his stomach.

"Try it woman and you'll be dead."

"I already am."

Amused he stepped back, "I will give you two options for your punishment. We are an honorable group after all." The men in the crowd snickered.

"You will stay and service the men of the Watch. Maybe live a few more days in warmth on your back..."

"Or?"

"Die a cold, painful death, alone in darkness."

"The later."

He smiled, "So it will be. Take her."

Arya was overwhelmed by the men grabbing at her.

"No man will fuck her. She belongs to them now. We keep our oath today men."

* * *

**Samwell**

Word of a woman at Castle Black spread like wild fire, making its way back to Samwell in the infirmary.

"Allister sent her beyond the Wall. She killed-"

The man didn't even have time to finish his thought. The mortar and pestle shattered against eh stone floors, powder erupting in a white cloud. Pushing past the confused man, Sam rushed from the room to find Allister. Arya Stark had come to the wall and now had been banished into the abyss. He had to stop them. If he didn't she'd surely die out there.

Wheezing, his chubby legs moved as fast as they could but he was too late. By the time he'd reached Allister and demanded an explanation she was already gone.

"The little bitch killed Donos."

"She's Arya Stark. She's a Lady," he sputtered. "She's Lord Snow's sister."

"Jon Snow is a deserter and coward, his sister a murderess and whore. Let him show his face here again to defend her honor and he'll be hanging from the tower walls."

* * *

**Arya**

They groped her one last time, before pushing her forward on her knees, the gates closing behind her.

Staring out into the great white emptiness, Arya began to walk. She would need to find food and shelter.

(5 days later)

Huddled in a ball, she had dug herself a tunnel in the half frozen snow. Her breath melted small drops of water from the edge of the opening where she lay. Shaking, her stomach growled.

Maybe she should have chosen the first. No. It was better to die with pride, frozen, starved, but with pride. Left with no supplies, only her sword and a flint stone, she would not last another day. She would search again tomorrow for food or die the next night.

When her eyes closed from hunger, cold and exhaustion, she was half aware that they may never open again.

Then she heard the crunching of snow. Someone was there! "_Anyone!"_ she thought.

Slowly she pulled her body up, peaking out her tunnel. She thought at first she was mistaken. But as it spotted her, she was sure she wasn't. It was as if she were having a nightmare.

It was twice her size. Its hands looked like claws. Its milky white skin glowed in the fading light. Its chest looked battered. Barely clothed, she could see its muscles contract, but it did not breathe. It was dead.

"_White Walker!"_ her mind screamed.

Scrambling from her hole, she tried to raise her sword but it was already on her. Its hands clawed at her throat, its mouth snapping at her face as she tried to fight.

She could feel blood pouring from its nails on her neck. Black dots were appearing before her eyes. With her mind shutting down, she considered giving up.

"_Let it have you. Be done with it_," her subconscious whispered. But then she heard another voice from long ago, calling her back, "_Not Today_."

Her arms felt like they weighed more than her body as she reached out striking at the monster. Swinging at its arm, she landed a blow, hearing a crack. It released its grip momentarily and she stumbled back gasping for air.

Its arm should be broken, if not partially severed. But there was not blood. The Other looked at her, unharmed and undeterred. Coming at her again, the struggle resumed.

After minutes it had her on the ground, again snapping at her face. In a last desperate move Arya thrust her sword upward with all her strength, her arms shaking. The blade drove through the beast's neck. Not taking a chance, she moved it to the side, severing the head from the body. Bloodless, it rolled to the ground.

Horrified she looked up to find the body still standing, looking for her. In haste she picked up the head and began running. She ran like she was on fire. Its hideous face tucked under her arm.

* * *

BAM BAM BAM

_10 seconds pass_

BAM BAM BAM

The watch men had seen it approaching. The body had been crawling toward the Wall's gate for hours.

"What the bloody hell is that?"

"I don'ts know."

Huddled against gate, Arya had crawled the last five hundred yards. Her hands were blocks of ice. One eye was swollen shut and from her face and neck hung small dried blood icicles.

Gathering herself to her knees she braced one hand on the door and with the other she grabbed the head by the hair. Swinging it, she banged the skull against the large doors- the bones cracking on impact.

For a long time she sat like that, swinging the skull in rhythm as bones crunched with each swing. After some time, her pace slowed: her resolve dying. She had killed the White Walker or at least taken its head. And now she would die against the gates of the Wall.

Maybe this was for the best. She was dead anyhow. If they left her, she'd die of cold and hunger. If they let her in, they'd strip her, spread her and let every man in the Watch fuck her till she bled to death.

With her head on the ground, the skull, still in hand, dropped next to her face. She'd die looking at this now mangled thing.

When her eye finally closed she heard a voice calling her in the distance, "Arya… Arya…."

"Father?" she whispered. She could hear him now. He was coming for her. In that moment she finally accepted death. "_Yes. Today_," were her last conscious thoughts.

When the gate opened, the men looked down to the huddled mess. "Oh bloody hell. What the fuck is that?"


	13. I Will Follow You Into the Dark

**Arya and Jon**

Her eye struggled to open, a bright light piercing through the lid. She could see something move before her, "Father? Is this the after world?"

A hand cradled her head, she felt something wet pressing against her eyes, then face and neck.

"No, not even close."

Her eye snapped open, "Jon?"

Wearing a tight expression he continued wiping her face with the damp cloth, "Do not speak. You need to rest."

"I'm alive?"

"Yes, barely, you stupid, foolish girl. You could have been killed. You should have died out there… here. What the hell were you thinking coming here? What the hell are you doing this far north? You are supposed to be at Storm's End."

Arya tried to think of a way to explain, to tell him of she had come here for him.

"Do not answer. Do not do anything. You are covered in blood."

"My own."

Arya looked down to see that she had been stripped to her small clothes. Sitting next to her, he looked nervous as he dipped the cloth in warm water, working at the blood staining her skin.

"Jon…"

He looked to her now. "Please come closer."

Leaning in, he moved down to hear her. Her hand reached up, her fingers tracing his face. With him still close, her other hand cupped him, drawing him closer to her lips. He smelled of fire and wood, pine and winter.

Her lips were dry and warm. Jon didn't have time to care or worry if what they were doing was wrong. Arya had lived, surviving beyond the Wall.

She whispered, "I came for you. I'll always come for you."

"You almost died. You went beyond the Wall."

"I had no choice."

"That thing you were carrying in your hands…"

"My skull?"

"Where did you get a White Walker's skull?"

"I took it from its body."

"You killed an Other?"

"No. I took its head when it attacked me. The body is probably still wandering somewhere looking for me and the head."

"You are rash and crazy. No woman would wander alone into the Watch. No man desires to go beyond the Wall."

"Neither do I. I only desire to find you."

Arya didn't believe in emotional nonsense. She could never tell anyone she loved them. But Sansa was right. She loved. She loved enough to go the Wall, steal from a White Walker and fight her way back.

"Do not ask me to go."

* * *

**(2 days after Arya wakes up)**

**_Bran,_**

**_I have found Arya, here at the Wall. She is unharmed and being taken care of. _**

**_Jon Snow_**

* * *

**(5 days after Arya wakes up)**

"Do not be afraid."

She stood aloof from the green creature. It was larger than anything she had ever seen in her life. Its jaws were comparable to the ones she had once touched in the dungeons of the Red Keep. Hunched, it moved its head side to side when Jon approached.

"It's the same as Ghost."

Hanging back, Ghost stood by Arya now, her hand on his head.

"Ghost doesn't breathe fire."

"Come," he said more sternly this time.

Arya tentatively made her way towards the dragon.

"Does it have a name?"

"Rhaegal, it was named for my father."

She was not a dragon. She could easily be burned.

"I won't let him hurt you. Do not show fear. He can sense it."

Arya steadied herself. Had she not survived Harrenhal, the streets of Braavos, the men of Night's Watch and beyond the Wall? Her fingers finally met the beast's skin: warm, dry and scaly. The beast did not move. Placing his hand over hers, he moved it over the dragon.

"Rhaegal is mine, the same as Ghost. As Ghost would never hurt you, neither will Rhaegal."

Arya looked into the green dragon's eyes. It had been days since she had woken and neither had spoken of the kiss, either times. But he didn't avoid her like he did on the way to White Harbor.

What did it mean? She felt foolish, like some stupid little girl, nervous around someone she'd once known so well and been so comfortable around. But that was a long time ago.

Hadn't she gotten what she desired? She was here, that much felt right. To say more might compel him to pull away once more, drive him from her in disgust.

He'd kissed her back, both times, but mayhaps it was the confusion of the situation. All Jon knew of her was a memory of a scrawny child that use to cling to him when hiding from Septa Mordane, go to him when Sansa and Jeyne teased her. A little sister, she might have been years ago but was no longer.

It should be enough that she was here, but it wasn't.

"What?" He questioned, examining her worried expression.

"I'm scared," she was ashamed to think, much less say. What if he never felt the same? What if this was it for them, just a few short weeks at the Wall?

"Nothing."

* * *

**(Same Day)**

"My Lady, they have taken Dragonstone. They come with dragons."

Cersei poured herself another glass of wine.

"Did you not hear me, My Lady?"

"Mother, what shall we do?"

"We will meet them at Dragonstone. Attack before they can assemble forces." A councilman offered.

Cersei drained the glass without acknowledging the men, pouring herself another, looking finally to Tommen. She heard the infamous words of the mad King, "_Burn them all!"_

"So it begins…." She muttered mindlessly.

"King, what are your orders?"

Tommen looked sheepishly at his mother. Even as an adult he bent to her whim.

"No. Fortify the walls. Send for troops at Casterly Rock." Cersei partially slurred, through wine stained lips.

The councilmen looked to the Queen mother then to Tommen who answered, "Yes, fortify the walls. Arm every man and boy over the age of ten and two."

"My King if we march now, strike before they can gather men-"

"No. We will fortify the walls. Send word to Casterly Rock and wait for them to come to us."

"We cannot withstand a siege from dragons. The city will fall."

(Cersei's mind) _"And we will die. Idiots, all idiots, we are already dead."_

* * *

**( That night)**

Creeping past the guard who watched her door, she slipped into the room, unheard and unnoticed. She found him there, peaceful in sleep, the fire in the hearth dying down.

When she moved the furs, he stirred springing from sleep as if prepared for an attack.

"Arya, what are you doing? Is there something wrong?"

"No. Nothing is wrong."

Dressed in only her nightclothes, she pulled the furs down further.

"Arya, you cannot sleep here."

Her legs slipped in next to his, and then her body, "Who would stop me?"

As she moved down into the bedding next to him, they faced each other.

"What would the men think?"

"I do not care what they think. Do you?"

Years before when she was just a child in Winterfell she had done this. Afraid in the middle of the night, she would come to his room. He told her that it wasn't right for boys and girls to sleep in the same bed. Even then she did as she pleased.

"I don't care what they think of me, it is you." He answered, trying to reason with her.

"And neither do I care for their thoughts of me."

She brushed hair from his face, "We are not the people we once were."

"No, we are not."

A long silence passed between them then. Before Arya finally spoke, "I thought of you. When I lay in the bowels of the House of Black and White, I thought of you often. I did not think of Robb as I thought of you. I did not spare thoughts on Bran and Rickon…."

His stomach had lurched into his throat in a semi pleasant, nervous reaction.

"You are not my brother. I have lived close to half my life away from you. We are no more brother and sister now, as we were then."

He had thought of this often over the past four months apart. Arya had been away from him for close to eight years. She was just as much a stranger to him as she was divinely familiar.

"Where did you spend those eight years?"

She hesitated. Could she tell Jon of her past? Could she explain to a man so honorable how she had stolen, lied and cheated? Could she look into his eyes, warm with unconditional love and explain to him how she had killed men without remorse?

She spoke softly for the next hour, whispering her secrets to him there face to face. Things she'd dare not tell anyone in the world. At times she stopped deciding if she should continue. She told him of Gendry, of feelings she didn't know or understand at the time. She told him of some places she had been, the things she had seen and done. They sat in silence for a stretch before she began whispered confessions of the men she had killed.

Finally she stopped with Aegon, "It wasn't what you think."

He didn't want to know what it was. Jon didn't want to think of it- ever.

"I thought I could make a deal."

"For what?" The corners of his mouth had turned up, like he something bitter in his mouth.

"You."

She watched a range of emotions flash over Jon's face, even as he obviously tried to control his reaction. Suddenly, she was no longer nervous. Arya knew she should elaborate, but instead slowly leaned in, giving him all the time in the world to refuse her- say no.

Six years she had wandering around, taking on a half dozen identities, pretending to be anyone but who she was. It was strange to finally be herself and feel as if she was coming up for air after so long of holding her breath.

He felt it too.

Lips touched lips, a steady breath passing between them as they kissed each other as they did that night in White Harbor: like they'd never met before but had known each other forever.

Legs pressed against legs, hip on hip, coiling around on another.

He could have fought. Jon could have come up with some reason why they should consider what they were doing. But the problem was, he was out of rational arguments. Skin melded into skin and something that seemed wrong, gone for so long that Jon couldn't remember feeling different, dissipated. In its place the heaviest weight he'd ever felt in his life, a desperation he'd never understood before. Something so heavy, it gnawed away under his skin, tearing at every sense of security, all that he'd known these past year. What happened when she left?

He'd seen how life was supposed to be and it wasn't the one he was living. He wasn't meant to stay at the Wall, live his life in isolation.

He was meant to be with her. Things clicked into place for the first time ever, scaring him shitless.

When they parted, he told her of things he'd never thought he'd say to another soul. He confessed of all the mistakes he'd made, time's he'd been afraid, unsure. He told of the Others, things he had seen and done and Ygritte. How he had broken his vow for lust.

And when she asked him if he loved her, he answered no, knowing then that any love he had once thought he had for her was only an illusion of believing her to be like Arya, holding on to anything to feel some sense of belonging that had always alluded him, until now.

When Arya finally fell asleep with her back tucked to him and his arm draped over her protectively, it was then he began to question. What could he possibly do in this situation? How could he ever even attempt to distance himself from her now? When he drifted to sleep he knew that he was bound to her and her happiness, more so than any oath he'd previously taken.

* * *

**Jon**

**_(11 days after Arya awakes)_**

Slipping from Arya's chambers in the early morning, he shut the door quietly behind him, looking throughout the halls.

"Lord Comman-" Norhan stopped himself from finishing, undecided how to address the former commander of the Night's Watch.

Jon looked up to find the young man staring at him inquisitively, paper in hand.

"Yes, Norhan?"

"Is everything okay? Is Lady Stark not well?"

The young man could not have been more than eight and ten, short and round, he reminded him of Samwell, his innocence palpable. Of the men of the Night's Watch, Norhan may be one of the only men whom Jon would trust with the care of Arya.

"She is fine. I don't trust the men to watch her chambers. What is this?" He pointed to the note.

"Raven from Dragonstone."

Jon could sense the confusion in the boy's voice. Although it was known and clearly undeniable that Jon was a Targaryen, the Wall's relative seclusion kept news of the Seven from reaching the Wall and visa versa.

Any development of Deanery and Aegon's quest to reclaim the families' estate would still be unknown to most.

Taking the letter from Norah, he unrolled the scroll and read:

**_Jon,_**

**_We have taken Dragonstone with no resistance. We gather forces from our allies in Dorne before we march on King's Landing. I have made inquiries as to the well being of those at Storm's End. My sources say Lady Baratheon is with child, Rickon is in good health. There is no word of Arya. She is rumored to have traveled to Winterfell. I assume you will inquire upon her wellbeing and communicate your findings. _**

**_The Wall does not require your attention. I ask that you come to Dragonstone. When you find Arya, I suggest you bring her south. Once we have taken the Red Keep, I cannot ensure her safety if she is still in Winterfell. _**

**_Aegon Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone_**

"_So it will begin." Jon thought._

"Jon, is there something wrong?"

"No. Please I ask that you keep watch Lady Stark until she wakes. Do not let anyone in, no matter the circumstances."

Norah smiled, "No man will disturb the Lady of Skulls, on my watch."

Jon frowned at the men's name for Arya, "Do not let her hear you call her that."

* * *

**Aegon**

**(14 days after Arya awakes)**

**_Aegon,_**

**_Lady Stark is at the Wall, safe. My position has not changed. I will stay at the here. Lady Stark will return to Winterfell were Lord Brandon Stark will watch over her well being. _**

**_Jon Snow_**

Aegon crumpled the paper in his hands.

"He will not come?" She feared all along. Once he went to the Wall his unwavering sense of duty would keep him there.

"No." Aegon attempted to control the annoyance.

"We must unite as one to hold the Seven. I worried this would happen." She paused, "He needs motivation…. Where is the girl?"

Aegon had weeks ago sent eyes to Storm's End, inquiring about Arya. He had been on edge for months, across the Narrow Sea. Calculating in his mind how he would bring her to him. It was all he could do to stop himself from ridding to Storm's End and taking her himself, demanding that she come with him to Dragonstone for her own protection.

When he received word that she had gone north, his fears had come to fruition. She had crossed an invisible party line into hostile territory.

What was his obsession with this woman? Was she not one of thousands? Once he took the Iron Throne he would have his pick from the Seven. He had tried to temper his thoughts of her. He had tried to make himself indifferent to her now ever-growing unavailability. But he could not.

At night images of her would drift into his sleep: her standing before him, innocent and carnal offering herself as she did that night. He'd wake agitated, unbearably excited.

He had thought to take a whore. Bed any beauty from the island and be done with this obsession. But when he went to fuck the whore he had handpicked: with long dark hair, petite frame and a pleasing face he could not get himself to even undress. Her hair looking dull compared to his memory of Arya's: her figure flat and her face plain. Looking at the young woman, who a years before would have inspired lust, he felt cold, unsatisfied and disgusted.

Paying her handsomely, he dismissed her immediately. Since then he would not take a whore to bed. He would not seek the company of any woman who offered themselves to him in Dragonstone.

"She is at the Wall."

"The Wall?" Daenerys mused, "Brave little girl."

Rounding the table she joined her nephew at its head. Spending most of her life with no family other than Viserys, she had feared the Aegon would share her mad brother's temper. Instead, Aegon had become the brother Daenerys had always wished she had, their connection strong. Their history and future shared. The pair sought counsel and company with few other than each other.

She thought to herself that mayhaps they would not make a terrible husband and wife. But still she thought of Jon.

"Jon will never leave the Wall unless forced to do so." Daenerys insisted.

"He waivers on which side he sits." Aegon loved Jon as if they had always been together- raised as the brothers they were. Jon's unwillingness to join their cause pained him.

"Yes, family can be a strong motivator," she touched Aegon's arm in a show of comradery. "He will need a reason to separate himself from the Stark's and their interests."

"How do you separate someone for all that they know?"

Although Aegon desperately wished that Jon would join their cause, he understood Jon better than most. Honorable, it would take great measure to convince him to abandon his oath at the Wall. Loyal, it would take unearthly forces to separate him from his childhood family, aligning him with his true family, over the House of Stark.

"This girl, I sense that he is attached to her. More than the others…."

Aegon knew of the closeness between Jon and Arya- a bound forged during childhood. Jon had spoken of it so few times during their time together in the Watch. But when he did, his connection and affection for his foster sister was evident.

They'd been in Dragonstone for weeks and he had yet to say anything further to Dany about marriage because he never would. He knew it was what was expected of them both but he couldn't. Not now. Not after meeting her.

He just didn't know how to tell Daenerys. He would marry Arya Stark to align Jon with House Targaryen and extinguish the torment that had ravaged his mind for these past five months.

* * *

**Jon and Arya**

(**1 Month after Arya awakes)**

Standing on top of the wall she looked out into the empty vastness. How long would she have really lasted? Could Jon have ever found her? Had she not crawled back, skull in hand, would she have died without seeing his smile again?

"How many of them are there?"

Jon shrugged, "We're unsure. But be sure they are coming."

"When?"

"Bran did not say. You seeing one, means that they're out there. They are waiting. For what, we don't know."

"The wildlings?"

"I've given some free passage beyond the Wall. We cannot leave them there to die."

Arya reached for Jon's hand, wrapping hers inside his.

"They need to be protected. We all do."

Jon did not know what came next. Did he stay at the Wall? Did he take back his position as Lord Commander? Did he wait while the war for the Iron Throne took everything?

He had a duty. He had taken an oath to protect the Wall, to protect the Seven from anything that lay beyond it. He had a responsibility to protect the Wildlings, whether people of Westeros or not. If he did not stand for them who else would?

Then, she pulled his hand with hers behind her back. Drawing him near, she reached up on her toes, kissing him, "If you stay, I will stay. If you go, I will go."

The Wall was no place for Arya, no matter how tough she may be. It was hardly a place for a man. She could not remain here. The longer she stayed the more the men grew uneasy with her presences resenting something so near, yet so far.

She wouldn't go without him and he could not ask her to leave. Light after years of darkness had made him greedy, desperate not to be left, irrational for more time. It was now he understood what Maester Aemon meant long ago:

"**_Jon, did you ever wonder why the men of the Night's Watch take no wives and father no children? So they will not love," the old man answered, "for love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."_**

Would he forsake his oath and keep the only thing he ever really wanted? Or would he abandon Arya and do as he was trained, as Ned had taught him: uphold his duty, be an honorable man.

* * *

**Bran**

**(1 month, 5 days later)**

**_Their figures lay facing one another, their bodies intertwine. Light flickers on Arya's face. She leans closer to Jon and whispers, "I love you. Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be mine. When you die, I will die. And there I will be buried. Not even death will separate us." _**

**_Jon kissed her, replying, "You are mine…. As sure as I am yours. Even if all of Westeros burns we will not separate."_**

**_(The scene changes)_**

**_Standing amongst a room full of people, a crown is placed upon Arya's head as she joins hands with Aegon Targaryen._**

**_(The scene changes)_**

**_In a dimly lit room, Aegon leans into Arya, "I will love you forever. No man or woman will ever come between us. Songs will be sung of our sons' honor and bravery, our daughters' beauty. And when we die they will say that no king loved his queen as I loved you."_**

**_(The Scene Changes)_**

**_An army marches in the distance. Woman and children run in fear, men raise their weapons in defense and above circles a white beast, its cries heard for miles. _**

**_Arya stands holding back children, her eyes ridden with fear. Jon turns to her as men march from Winterfell's courtyard, "He will not pass. Take the children and go."_**

**_(The Scene Changes)_**

**_Arya stands between Jon and Aegon, her hands covered in blood. Her face blackened with soot. Clearly torn she looks between the two men, unsure of how to proceed, irresolute in her loyalties. _**

Bran woke from his dream in a cold sweat.

"I will act or Westeros will burn."

* * *

**(1 month 7 days)**

**_Brandon Stark,_**

**_I march north to gather forces. I bring with my men the body of Lady Stoneheart, killed in Riverrun by Frey soldiers. As dragons have landed in Dragonstone, I ask now for you to take up my cause and pledge your men to my claim. _**

**_Lord Stannis Baratheon_**

* * *

**(1 month 12 days)**

**_Jon,_**

**_I request that you bring Arya to Winterfell. She cannot be kept at the Wall. Lady Stoneheart was killed when riding south in the River Lands, their forces were attacked by Frey troops and driven back. I intend to have a formal burial and a meeting of the Starks as to how we will chose to proceed. Your presence is requested. If you come, you are here under formal protection. _**

**_Lord of Winterfell, Brandon Stark._**

With Stannis marching north he would be in Winterfell in weeks time gathering men to take the Iron Throne. The time had come for him to decide.

* * *

**Jon**

**(1 month 15 days)**

**_Jon,_**

**_We leave to march on King's Landing in two days time. I ask you as your brother, for you to come to us now. We will not take the throne without you. Come meet our forces and take back your birthright. You are now the legitimized son of Rhaegar Targaryen. I urge you to bring Arya with you as well. With Stannis' forces retreating to the north, her safety cannot be ensured. _**

**_Aegon Targaryen_**

Jon could sense Aegon's desperation. This was the fourth raven he had sent requesting Jon's return, each ending with the request to bring Arya, to shelter her in the protection of the walls of Dragonstone. Even now legitimized, he was still undecided. However, Jon was sure of one thing: he would not take Arya south. Aegon had intended to marry Arya and he couldn't stomach the thought.

He would leave her in Winterfell. She would be protected by Bran and the bannermen of the North.

**_Aegon,_**

**_I am taking Lady Stark to Winterfell upon her brother's request. She will be safe there, I have no doubt. My position on staying at the Wall has not changed._**

**_Your brother, Jon Targaryen_**

* * *

**Tyrion  
**

When the letter arrived announcing that young Griff, Aegon, had landed in Westeros, Tyrion immediately boarded the first ship back.

It would only be a matter of time now. Soon his sister would find the fate that she had feared all along. Her hopes squandered and all that she loved: power, falling to ash.

He hadn't seen Jaime since he had revealed the truth about Tysha. It had taken six years for him to slowly allow himself to see that Jaime didn't mean him harm. That he was manipulated too easily by Tywin and Cersei. And that as he could believe in Shae's lies, so could Jaime in theirs.

When Tyrion stepped onto the docks of Lannisport and found Jaime waiting, he recognized that although his return signified safety in the Seven for Cersei's enemies, it also pointed to the probability of her impending end. A fact that Jaime was all too aware of and suffering over.

Years ago, when she'd been tried for crimes against the Faith of the Seven, he'd denied her amnesty with his blade. Something that Tyrion knew was a more unbearable feat than even the loss of the older Lannister's hand. Although she'd survived the trial, Cersei never quite recovered from the humiliation.

Similar to how Jaime never quite recovered from her betrayal. There was nothing sadder than a man in love with someone he also hated. It was like watching a beast gnawing its own leg from a trap: it either bled to death in the process or stopped because it was too painful to be free.

For all of Jaime's abilities, discernment of Cersei's love and manipulation was not one. Weeks after Tyrion had arrived, when a letter came from the Red Keep, instructing that Cersei would strand trial for her crimes against the Seven, Tyrion did the only thing he knew to be right. He burned the letter and never told Jaime of its arrival.

When she died, there was no one there to speak for her. There was no one for her to call to champion in a trail by battle, if she was given the option. Cersei was left, with nothing but the bitterness of knowing she'd finally been abandoned.

Maybe Tyrion did it as retribution for Jaime's lie about Tysha: an omission for an omission. Perhaps he did it to save his brother more unneeded pain. But more than likely, Tyrion knew his strongest motivator was just to know she'd be dead.

That Cersei would meet the end she'd tried so hard to avoid. And he'd been the last to seal her fate.

* * *

**Jon and Arya**

**(1 month 15 days)**

"What are you doing?"

Looking into a dirty mirror he attempted to take a knife to his hair.

"Trying to look more civilized," he grumbled as he hacked at the curls.

"Sit. Let me help you."

Standing before him, she reached for the hem of his tunic pulling it over his head. Her eyes danced over his bare chest for a moment before she took the knife from his hand, stepping forward between his knees.

"Should I trust you with a knife, so close?" He jabbed.

"Tilt your head forward."

Obliging, his face was inches from her breasts, his breath slowing, the blood in his veins moving like sap in winter. She worked for minutes, pieces of black hair floating to the ground, her smell, coming down like a veil between him and the world.

Every night she lay next to him, as they whispered stories to each other, lulling one another to sleep. Every night he would drift to sleep, her smell filling his senses and wake in the morning wanting her so badly that he would force himself to rise, before she woke, forcing him to be honorable no more.

"This visit, it does not change a thing. I will go with you to Winterfell but I will not stay."

"And why is that?" With his eyes closed, he was in a trance. Gaping through the gates of nirvana as her hands ran through his hair.

"You will not stay there…."

Pulling at his chin, he looked up at her. Stooping she kissed him, her tongue searching his mouth, as he tugged at her lip.

The tentativeness from before was gone, almost as much forgotten as the rest of the world. She had kissed him more than a dozen times: on top of the Wall, when they were alone, at night as they whispered in the dark, each time, making it more difficult to stop than the last.

"Arya, you will stay in Winterfell."

"I will not."

He laughed, half annoyed, mostly amused. She would never listen to him, defy him at every turn and he loved her all the more for it.

"You are not leading anything here," she answered smugly.

"Am I not?" His fingers tracing patterns on her back, "Close to a thousand men of the Watch seem to think so."

"Idiots who fear your pet."

"Rhaegal is not my pet."

"Whatever he may be, he does not scare me."

"And what does scare you?"

Her eyes became dazed for a moment when she answered, as if only to herself, "Falling into darkness and never coming back."

She stood, chills running through her body. Remembered the feeling of nothing she had carried with her for so many years.

She shifted back to the door, shutting it. The entire Night's Watch may have had their suspicions about Jon and Arya's closely guarded relationship, especially now that Jon had been legitimized. But suspicions did not make conformations and neither was ready to let the world be privy to their private moments and feelings.

Setting down the knife, Arya hesitated for a moment. Her hand toyed with the bottom of her tunic, before lifting it over her head. Long dark hair fell over shoulders, covering her breasts.

"Arya…"

Jon's nails dug into the wood of the chair, his mouth going dry, his stomach knotting.

She ignored his protests. Stopping between his legs, she softly kissed him.

"Do not be afraid, for I am not. We are born and then we die. And only you and I will lie between."

Jon's body instantly reacted, betraying even his deepest engrained sense of honor as his hands ran down her bare back. Against the curls at the crown of his head, she whispered, "I love you, Jon."

His hands pressed into her back causing her to fold into him, her legs wrapping around him in the chair. She could feel him hard beneath her, his thumb tracing her spine.

On instinct she moved her hips over him. Her head fell back, as a wave of sensation burned between her thighs, up her body, her nipples hardening.

"Arya…" his voice straining with warning, "You are young…."

Her hips rolled over him again in response. Her eyes watching as his body responded with or without his consent or intrepid respectability.

His voice was labored, as he fought against every instinct within him that begged for him give in, "You do not know what you are doing."

This game she was playing was scratching away at what little resolve he had left.

She looked down, her eyes meeting his. Her mouth opening as liquid pooled heavy between her thighs, "Tell me to stop…" she challenged.

She brushed her hair from her shoulders, exposing her breasts, "Tell me you do not want me."

His resolve snapped, as he pulled her down hard against his mouth, his hand finding her hip, holding her as she moved over him. Jon knew what his decision was now. He had known for some time. He would not take Arya to Dragonstone for the same reason he had kept her at the Wall selfishly for over a month.

She was young, but he didn't care. He knew what he was supposed to do.

His hands stilled her now, pulling her down, her face level with his, "I will make love to you, Arya, when we are man and wife."

"That desperate to have me? You need not go to such extremes." She joked, her eyes laughing.

"I am serious, Arya. Marry me in the Godswood at Winterfell, as our ancestors have married for a thousand years."

Her smile stilled, "Are you sure?"

He kissed her again, softly this time, his words warm and steady against her ear, "Do not ever fear, I will follow you into the dark."


	14. My City of Ruin

**(1 Month 16 days after Arya has awoke)**

**Dany**

They never spoke of it, Dany and Aegon. The months passed with no proposal made for how they should proceed after they took the throne. But he didn't have to say it. She knew that look.

They would never wed. When he had come across the Narrow Sea months before with Jon Snow, something had changed from the man she had met three years past. His focus scattered and they didn't need to mince words with an explanation.

She would never be queen, his queen, not that she was particularly distraught about the matter. It did leave her place in power, in question, however.

Who would she be when it was all said and done? Was she not a queen? Would it not be her dragons that would win them the throne?

One thing was sure, she'd be damned if she'd let herself be made irrelevant.

XX

Her hip slammed against the heavy wood table. Grunting she moved to push back, but her arms were restrained behind her. Her fingers interlaced with Asha's, Dany moved her face, avoiding her advances. This was their game, a delicate tit for tat.

"Don't deny me," her lips rippled over Dany's ear.

"I'll do as I please," she quipped.

"Will you now? Tell me, what would please you?"

It had started more than a month before. Innocent at first, their relationship began with a fascination: Danaery's with Asha. She dressed as a man, kept her hair short. Lean, her sharp features were what caught Danaery's attention, that a woman so small, like herself, could be authoritative.

Asha was cunning, her presence demanding attention and respect. She commanded ships, led men into battle. There were whispers throughout Dragonstone that Asha had been raised a boy, fought like a man and fucked like a sailor, back from sea.

It could have been Daenerys' desire for power, to be respected for merit not just because of a name. But more than anything it was the connection she felt with her, something that was wordlessly understood between them. A feeling she had not experienced in years.

When Dany didn't answer, Asha turned and shrugged. She wouldn't pander to her and would never allow Dany to have the advantage. Asha wasn't a man. She couldn't so easily be manipulated with feminine tricks, knowing them all already.

Grabbing her tunic, she pulled her in, taunting, "You would deny a dragon?"

Hands slipped under the material, tracing her stomach, her lips painting her neck.

"I'll deny anyone I please. You can't scare an Ironborn with fire."

"Then I won't scare you. Come to bed with me because you please."

"The great Khaleesi, mother of dragons, wishes to take me for her seawife?"

Yanking at the laces of Asha's britches, she responded, "Silence."

Leading Asha back to the four poster bed, her fingers dug into her thin frame. She'd show to the brazen woman, how she'd brought even Khal Drogo to his knees.

"Let me teach you what it is to make love," Dany whispered, her dress dropping to the floor.

Asha's face, shifted in disgust of the idea, such sentiment. "I know how to fuck," she answered, her eyes focused on Dany.

"A dog can fuck. Any lowly creature can rut away. But only few know what it is like to do this."

She bent kissing her knees, her thighs, making a slow path to her mouth.

Mouth closed, body stiff, she prepared herself to be violently penetrated, unwilling to trust, being taught by men long ago that sex was about power: the taking of it without remorse.

Tracing Asha's cheek bones and nose, her hands combed through her hair, showing her affection she was sure the woman had never known, "I won't hurt you. You need not be frozen."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Yes, you are, we fear anything we don't know. And you don't know of kindness or affection."

Asha's eyes closed, momentarily, betraying her stoic sensibility. Angling towards her neck, Dany feather her throat and collar-bone with ardor, her free hand found Asha's and held it tight.

"It is okay. Don't run from it," she soothed, sliding her fingers into her. Asha tilted her hips, meeting her, finding a rhythm.

As their pace quickened, the women held each other, in a wordless security and understanding. And when Asha could take it no longer, Dany pulled her close, in an ardent embrace, her lips meeting Asha's temple, "This is love, embrace it."

And without question for the first time in her life, Asha did, and finished with such vulnerability that she shook like the weakest of creatures and did not care.

* * *

**Jon and Arya**

**(1 month 20 days after Arya has awoke)**

Nearing Winterfell, Arya clung tighter to Jon's arm. "It will be fine," he whispered into her ear. Arya swallowed hard, her stomach lurching with the sudden decent, "Just get me to ground."

It was evening, the sky darkening as the dragon landed in the forest. When her feet hit ground, Arya regained her senses, "Where will you keep it?"

"Rhaegal will stay here, where no one will disturb him. We go the rest on foot."

They set out, hand in hand, the snow crunching beneath them. Neither yet ready to discuss how they would tell Bran, both somehow sure that he might already know. Was this his intent in sending for Arya? Would he try to separate them? If so, why, what purpose would that serve?

Coming to the Godswood, Arya stopped.

"We'll be there shortly," Jon urged.

With eyes focused on the heart tree, she coaxed, "Come," pulling him forward.

"Arya…"

"We'll marry," she insisted.

"Bran… Let him be here to witness our commitment."

"He already knows. I can feel it."

"He may, but we should not do this without his consent."

"Bran doesn't speak for me. I am six and ten. I don't need his guidance or his eyes."

"He won't take kindly to us going ahead without him, behind his back."

"I don't care. I'm not marrying Bran. I'll wed you, with or without his knowledge or consent."

He could feel the anxiety radiating off of her. Originally, she scoffed at his proposal of marriage, finding it unnecessary. Finally she agreed only to appease him. Her eagerness reflecting their shared unspoken fear: Bran wouldn't approve and was spearheading some plan to separate them.

"Bran may see, but he doesn't know. If Robb were alive he would understand. He married for love."

The last pieces of light fell from the sky and were replaced with snow that turned the evening pink: reflections of light ricocheting off the pool and white tree onto them.

"Let's marry now, before the heart tree, just you and I, in front of no one, but each other and the Old Gods."

"I don't even have a cloak with my sigil."

"It doesn't matter. I don't care whether you are direwolf, crow or dragon. You are mine. A house doesn't bind us."

She pulled then at the twine beneath her hood. Untying it, her hair fell to her shoulders, as she removed her cloak, standing in only a tunic. "We will do this right," she shivered.

"Arya, you will freeze."

"Then you better wed me quick."

Placing his hand over hers, she wrapped the twine around them both. Her eyes bright with affection, she began, "Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be mine. When you die, I will die. And there I will be buried. Before the gods of our ancestors, I swear, not even death will separate us."

Her dark hair was covered with snow, the reflecting light making her look unearthly. Any doubt Jon had about Bran's feelings faded. Robb and Ned loved Jon as a brother and son. Where ever they were, both men would have blessed their union.

"I am yours, as you are mine. Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be mine. When you die, I will die. And there I will be buried. Before the gods of our ancestors, I swear, not even death will separate us."

Removing his cloak he placed it over her shoulders. Looking down, the weight of their commitment struck him, warming him through the chill that prickled at his skin.

"Are you going to kiss me or not?"

"Will you always be so demanding?"

"I guess you'll soon find out."

Then he did, sealing them to one another for eternity, there before the heart tree.

* * *

**Asha and Dany**

**(1 month 18 days after Arya has awoke, 2 days previous)**

"When you take the Red Keep, will you keep your promise?"

The women lay tangled in sheets, Asha's feet at Daenerys head.

"Your husband will be gathering forces in the North."

"Don't call him that. I belong to no man."

Her fingers tracing Asha's barefoot, "What is it like, the Iron Islands?"

"Cold, wet, wonderful and much different from here."

"And how is that?"

"We don't' fear death or pain."

"What is it like to lead as you do?"

"Do you not lead?"

"By fear, not respect."

"Men are fools. They follow blindly or kill anyone they feel has something they don't."

"And what is it that you have that no man can possess?"

"We can give life as quickly as we can take it. Men can't make, they can only destroy. It's why they fear us so. They lock us away, in needle point, with frivolous dreams: in ignorance."

"Your father didn't. You were raised to command men."

"My father had no other option. He was desperate. He knew before Theon left for the North that he was weak."

"Don't all humans have some weakness?"

"No, only those who are stupid enough to feel have weakness."

"Ironborn don't love?"

"No, only the foolish love."

Dany looked at woman who had never before understood love. What kind of life had she lived that she feared what others sought?

"Stannis Baratheon will die. No Lord of Light will save him from the fire that make him dust."

"Then I'll return to the Iron Islands."

"And do what?"

"What we have always done, fight to be free."

"You wish to remove yourself from the Seven?"

"Yes."

"Did you hope that by me, taking you into my bed, I would grant you sovereignty?"

"No. I know better."

* * *

**Bran and Arya**

Bran looked from Jon to Arya. His dreams were true. They were in love, no doubt, and he knew then, that he'd done the right thing.

"I'm sorry to inform you that our mother has died marching in the River Lands."

"That thing was not our mother."

"No she wasn't but her body rests here now, as it should always."

"Is this why you called me here?"

"No. As I am sure Jon is aware, the Targaryens have marched on King's Landing. The Red Keep has fallen.".

"I'm aware," Jon answered.

"Stannis marches north now to gather forces. He'll be at our gates in two days time. What do you plan to do, Jon?"

"I'm going south."

"So you stand with the Targaryens?"

Arya's mind swam with the knowledge of the fallen Keep. She would mark Cersei off her list before long.

"I'll go to Aegon and see that he intends to keep peace."

"There will be no peace in the Seven. Stannis is determined to have the throne."

"And he will die in his efforts. Bran, do not march with him. It's a fool's cause."

"I am pledged to it. My father backed Stannis' claim…. And I have Sansa and Rickon to protect."

"I'll protect them."

"So you will not return to the Wall? You've abandoned your oath?"

Silence passed between them and before Arya or Jon could explain their new circumstance, Bran answered, "You won't marry her. I have promised Arya to Robert Arryn. She will leave immediately for the Vale."

"I will not!" Arya shouted, as she sprang from her seat.

"I've done this for your own protection. I can't guarantee your safety here and I won't lose another Stark. The Vale is impenetrable. Your lord husband will keep you safe."

"You're too late."

"You lie."

"I don't. I've wed Arya Stark, here in Winterfell, in the Godswood, as generations of Starks have before."

Bran's eyes widened with fear. It had already begun.

"It will be undone."

"It won't."

Bran pointed to Arya, "You will choose now. You are Stark or Targaryen."

Reaching down she took his hand before answering, "Jon and I have wed. Where he goes, I will go."

How could Bran sell her in marriage like a common slave? "You're an idiot to think I would bend to you. You are neither Robb nor our father. You're a child."

"And you a fool," he shot back bitterly.

Standing, she walked towards the door, taking Jon with her.

"If you leave now, you're no longer a Stark. You'll never again be my sister. You are either with us, or against us, Arya."

Turning at the door she replied, "Then we will forever part."

* * *

**Arya**

Standing before this empty space, Arya's hand found the now dead rose she had placed there months before.

"I'll seek justice for you soon." Touching the stones on the wall where her father should lay, she continued, "If I am no longer a Stark, it is because you have willed it to be so, from beyond the grave. You saved me that day, from death at the Wall. You saved me for Jon and him for me."

She looked at Lyanna's tomb. Had she been connected to Rhaegar as Arya to Jon? If so, they'd been told a lie. She wasn't taken but ran because she had no other choice.

* * *

**Asha and Aegon**

(**Present time)**

"No. We won't do it."

"It's not your decision. When Jon arrives we will decided together."

There were no secrets between them. Aegon had been aware for weeks that she had taken the Ironborn woman to bed and knew she hid it from him, because there was still a possibility they would wed.

He'd wondered if this would eventually be a request.

"Don't let the comfort of cunt, blind you."

Taken back for a moment, Dany blushed at his frank assessment. He knew.

"Stannis has offered Theon Greyjoy the same. If we release her, she will return to the Islands, take his head and follow Stannis's claim for the same offer."

"Who says we'll release her? You may want to keep your pet."

"She is not my pet. She is a valued alley. And we have given her our word."

"Women, you are so easily swayed by affection."

"No. I am easily swayed by logic. Don't speak to me as if you are indifferent. Something has been eating away at you for months."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know desperation when I see it."

"I am not so pathetic as to be desperate. We will decide when Jon arrives. Not before."

* * *

**Bran and Jon**

In the courtyard, Jon waited for Arya to ascend from the catacombs.

"I know you think me to be unfeeling, unsympathetic."

Jon turned to see Bran in his moveable chair.

"No. You've not loved."

"I've loved," Bran retorted, thinking of Meera.

"It is because you love my sister I know you will do the right thing. I have seen this path you have chosen. I have promised her to Robert Arryn to protect you both, to protect all of us."

"You have promised her to Robert Arryn to secure troops for Stannis's cause. And how is it that you benefit from this plan of certain failure? Has he promised you sovereignty or safety? Because I can guarantee all are lies."

Bran ignored the slight, "Have you consummated the marriage?"

Offended, Jon looked at Bran with disgust. Who was he to ask this?

"You have not. There were no witnesses to this marriage. So it can easily be forgotten. You have not truly wed her."

"Before the Old Gods, the gods of your father, the gods of the North, I have wed her. She is my wife."

"Listen to me, Jon. I say this as your brother. If you take Arya, you will send her to an early grave. If you run with her now, as your father did your mother, history will repeat itself."

"We make our own destiny. I am not my father and she is not Lyanna."

"Then for the love you hold so dear, spare my sister. Spare yourself and spare us all. It is better to love from a far then to love someone who is forever gone."

He held something out to Jon, "Take this letter. Read it alone. If you cannot make your decision based on the duty and honor my father taught you, then do it because of love."

Jon looked at the letter, deciding whether or not to take it. Whatever it would say could not change his mind.

"Take it, if not for me, then for the respect that you once had for my father."

Jon hesitated for another moment and then tucked the letter beneath his cloak.

"This will change nothing."

"For the future of us all, I pray to the Old Gods and new you're wrong."

"Jon. Let's go." Arya stopped between them, turning from Bran without a word of goodbye and walked away.

As right as Jon felt about their marriage, he felt enormous guilt for Arya's loss.

"It seems I have made you a bastard like myself."

Arya stopped, taking Jon's face in her hands almost violently, "You are not a bastard. You were never a bastard. Don't ever say that again. You've always belonged to me. I was your family then, as I will be now. We need no one but each other."

* * *

**Okay so I was super nervous about writing the Asha/ Dany scenes. The whole idea of those two- in their strange affection/ relationship/ friendship came to me and I haven't been able to get rid of the idea since. Its really based from a Clash of Kings in House of the Undying: "Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright on his dead face, gray lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness...mother of dragons...bride of death..." Thank you for reading and Reviewing!**


	15. See My Dreams All Die

**Okay I finally finished this chapter. Sorry it took me awhile. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

**Jon**

As they waiting in silence, he questioned how best to handle the next few moments. Should he tell Aegon of the marriage when they were alone?

"When can I see her?"

The letter Bran had given him felt as if it were weighted. Should he read it? Taking it from his cloak, he answered Arya absentmindedly, "When we sentence them all."

The letter hovered above the fire- posed to be tossed inside and forever forgotten. He stared for minutes deciding its fate.

"_For the respect you once had for my father," _Bran's voice echoed in his mind, causing him retracted his hand, saving the letter. Tearing the seal, he closed his eyes.

"What is that?"

Arya pointed to the paper, from her seated position.

"Nothing," he murmured before he read:

** _Jon,_ **

** _I feared this would happen. I could make a hundred arguments why you should break this union. But ultimately I believe that because you love my sister you will do what is best._ **

** _I've had a vision of your and Arya's future. I don't believe it is good for any man to know too much about his own life before it is lived, but it is necessary for you to know what is at stake._ **

** _This union will leave children motherless, wives as widows, Winterfell in ruins and the Seven Kingdoms torn. If you encourage her love, you will leave her alone in a shallow, early grave._ **

** _I ask that you sever this tie and forget this marriage to protect us all, but mostly to protect Arya. If she were to marry Robert Arryn, she would be safe. She could live a long life. If you love my sister, I ask you to do this for her._ **

** _Brandon Stark_ **

"Jon it doesn't look like nothing. What's wrong? Your face is pale."

Looking up from the letter, to Arya before him, he dropped the parchment in to the fire.

"It's nothing, just a letter."

Leaning in, he kissed her, holding her tight, "I'll speak to Aegon."

* * *

**Arya and Cersei**

Daenerys didn't need to guess the identity of the woman standing alone. She could see Aegon's demeanor shift instantly when she entered the room. His focused become scattered, his gaze drifting during the preceding.

This is what had changed. She didn't know whether she hated the younger woman or was purely interested. She was the mother of dragons and she'd be usurped by a child.

Each member of the council was lined up, awaiting their fate before the three dragons. Each stripped of their title, pardoned but dismissed from the seven kingdoms. When Cersei Lannister was brought before them, a glance shifted between the three, considering who would deliver the sentence.

Finally, Aegon spoke, "It has been decided that as you will die for your crimes against the Seven."

With head bent, on her knees, she appeared weak. Her looks had withered, her figure gone with age.

Aegon continued, "Your punishment will be carried out immediately."

Rising from his seat, Daenery's watched as he walked into the crowd of onlookers, to a young woman. When he leaned in speaking privately, she caught the female's slight recoil, her aversion to his attention.

"Y_es_…" she thought, "_This is her, one that haunts him_." The woman's distaste for him evident, "_This is why he craves her so…_." The man that would have everything was denied something.

The female listened patiently to her nephew's words, before stepping forward and approaching the fallen mother.

(Arya)

Seeing Cersei before her now, she was not the woman she remembered. She looked pathetic, her blond hair faded, her features pale and bloated.

She knelt before the woman now eye level. Her hand reached out, finding her chin, "Do you know who I am?"

With bloodshot eyes, her sour breath was pungent through the heavily coated lavender oil.

"No. Should I?"

She was strange woman, all grey eyes and dark hair. It was the end. In minutes she'd be dead, bleeding like a stuck pig and for some reason all she could think of was Maggy's prophecy: "Until there is another that is younger and more beautiful, to cast down and take all that you hold dear."

Her eyes cast over to the Dragon queen, all this time she spent worrying about Margery, wasted. Instead it was another child, throwing her from her place.

"No. I am not important. You once knew my father. He, I'm certain, you never forgot."

Why was there no one here to speak for her? Why did Jaime never come? She focused briefly on the words of the girl, but mostly thought of them. In the end, Maggy was right. Her children all dead, all except Myrcella and soon she'd be next.

And in the end, out of all the lovers she'd taken to bed, all the men that had professed undying affection, she was alone. No one had come to speak in her defense.

From her tunic she drew a knife, holding it before the woman, "When you took his life, you had another do it. You hid behind a boy to cover your schemes. His death was quick… your own will not be. My eyes will be the last thing you see and Ned Stark's face, your last thoughts."

Arya reached out, pushing the sleeves of Cersei's gown to her elbows.

Leaning in she whispered, "For the goodness that you took from this world, you will pay in blood and pain." And with that, the knife slit from wrist to elbow on both arms. Deep enough to expose bone, the cuts elicited a visceral yelp from the woman that she tried to muffle in vain. There, in front of the entire room, she bled to death, slowly, in pain and without aid.

"Valar morghulis."

* * *

**Jon, Aegon, Dany**

Bran's words were still circling Jon's mind throughout the proceedings and after, the slow pounding of his promises. As each second passed, Jon could feel himself becoming increasingly nauseated.

Should he be selfish? Should he ignore Bran's warning? He had seen the White Walkers coming with an army beyond the Wall and that had not happened. Could this too be a mistake?

"What news do you have from the Wall?"

Sitting now at a table with Daenerys and Aegon, he was finally brought back when Aegon questioned, "Jon? Are you listening?"

"Yes. There is no new development from the Wall."

"Then will you choose to stay or return?"

Both Daenerys and Aegon leaned forward, waiting for his response. But none came. This question was another unanswerable decision.

"I think it would be wise for you to stay. There has been no news, and you no longer belong there. You belong here, with us. Three are to rule the Seven, not two. We cannot make decisions if you are not here."

"What is there to decide?"

Aegon looked to Daenerys before answering, "Our aunt wishes to give the Iron Islands sovereignty."

"I only wish to make allies instead of certain enemies. Asha Greyjoy has killed her brother. She will align with Stannis Baratheon. He promised Theon freedom if he takes the Iron Throne."

"He won't promise the same to Asha. She's his wife. The Islands will not take a woman, even a queen, over a male Lord. The Islands are as his as they are hers," Jon answered.

"Ironborn men will follow Asha's command, not Stannis Baratheon's," Daenerys countered.

"Ned Stark didn't trust Balon Greyjoy and took Theon to ensure his loyalty. Theon was raised as a brother amongst us and proved to be just as unloyal as Balon. Do not trust the Greyjoys."

"They cannot win their freedom alone. Asha would be a fool to trust Stannis Baratheon. If we give them sovereignty, every land in the Seven will want it." Aegon tried to reason patiently with Dany, finding her logic to be clouded by affection, not strategy.

"I agree with Aegon. To give one, freedom, especially a Greyjoy, will not make peace in Westeros."

With the two men set against her, Daenerys could see her arguments were falling on deaf ears, "Then we'll make enemies quickly."

"That matter is now settled."

"What do you plan to do with the Stark girl?" Daenerys prodded.

Cutting in, Aegon answered, "Wed her." Blunt, it popped out of his mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world, as if the decision wouldn't possibly alienate ever ally he had left.

"No." Jon's response was quick and forceful. Daenerys sat stone face, not blinking an eye. He should have said more to her before. He should have assured her, his marriage to Arya was a necessity and that it would change nothing with them. She would still be queen.

But everything was happening so quickly.

"She'll be safe here in Kings Landing. You think she could make a better match?"

Jon knew now what he had been too absorbed to see earlier. Aegon was no longer desperate but resolute in his plan.

"She won't marry you."

"She will, if she can save her brothers and protect that frozen wasteland she loves so much."

Jon was ready to inform him, he was too late. He'd hoped to do it under different circumstances, where he could explain to his brother the inevitability of his and Arya's marriage. Maybe reason with him just how improbable it was that Arya would have ever married any man other than him. But he wasn't given the opportunity.

"Jon. I know you think of Arya as your sister, even still. You should know I will take care of her. I will be a good husband."

"She won't have you. She's promised to another-"

It was then, before he could finish, that he heard the words that confirmed Bran's visions. The things he would not say in writing.

"We will marry. She will be my wife and in time you will see that I am right."

There had been few times in the two years that Jon had known Aegon that he had seen him so serious. But on the rare occasion, he always knew, no matter the situation, that if Aegon had set his to it, he would be relentless in his pursuit.

From that moment, any doubts Jon had about the validity of Bran's words, were quickly erased. Everything suddenly became clear: the prophecy laying itself out before him.

* * *

**Arya and Jon**

"You come to claim your prize?" She smiled from her place on the bed, "What took you so long?"

Shutting the door to his chamber, he backed himself against it. He needed distance to do this. He'd hoped for more time but found that he was out. "No. I came to tell you that we're leaving."

"Going back to the Wall?" Her eyebrows furrowed, trying to decode his expression.

"No. Not the wall…" He ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. It was now or never. If he waited too long she would have him, his clear thoughts slipping away under her all too willing advances.

**"_If you love my sister…" _**Bran's words echoed.

"I am taking you the Eyrie."

Her eyes narrowed, "Why?"

"You will stay there with Robert Arryn."

"Why would I stay with Robert Arryn?"

This is what Jon wasn't sure he could do. He couldn't try to pretend to be indifferent. She would know him to be lying. Then she would pull it out of him. If she knew of the dream he would never be able to save her. Arya would convince him it was false, that they could change the future. And because he loved her, Jon might allow himself to selfishly believe.

"You will go to Robert Arryn and marry him as you were promised."

He would have to be cold, unfeeling and push her as far from him as possible.

"I cannot marry Robert Arryn. I am already wed." Her words were slow and careful as she rose from the bed, her tone clearly nettled.

Arya wasn't sure what was going on. What game was he playing? Surely, this was a jest? His composure had completely changed from the moment they arrived in Kings Landing. She could feel it settling between them: a wordless, shapeless, divider seeking to separate them.

"No. You are not. Our marriage was without witness and we have not shared a bed."

"We wed in the Godswood, before the gods. We will share a bed tonight." She stepped forward, threatening in her pace.

"No!" He held out his hand. "We will not. Our marriage was a mistake, Arya. It was unnatural." He almost choked on those last words. "We were raised as brother and sister."

"We are no more brother and sister than Tywin Lannister and Joanna. Why are you doing this?"

She was too close for comfort now. Her head tilted in suspicion. She knew him too well, he feared. She could always read when he was withholding something.

"I lied to you, to help our cause. I thought if I wed you, Bran would drop Stannis's claim. I miscalculated. You did not mean as much to him as I thought. "

"You are lying to me. Why do you lie?" She grabbed his face now, "You couldn't care less about the Iron Throne. You love me as much as I, you."

His eyes went cold, "I never cared for you as anything more than piece in a game. You are not my family. I loved you once as a sister but you are not even that to me anymore."

His words seemed as if they were falling on deaf ears, her expression unchanged and unaffected.

"You belong to me. You always have and always will. We were meant to stay together. I do not care if we are wed but we will not part. You promised." She was calm now, insistent, as if she had already won.

Jon grabbed her wrist, removing her hand, "I belong to no one. Your affections are misplaced. You came to me, not I to you. You came to the Wall. You forced yourself upon me. I indulged you. I thought you would prove to be useful. Our interests no longer intersect. I will stay here. You will go to the Eyrie and marry Robert Arryn."

The room was losing its equilibrium, her stomach lurching into her throat, her skin breaking out into a cold sweat.

"I will not marry Robert Arryn."

"You will go the Vale. Pack your things. I will go and broker a peace agreement with the boy before Stannis Baratheon can get to him."

"I won't go to the Vale."

"You will go. I will make alliances and you will stay there," His voice stern.

"You can't force me to do anything and if you think you can I would love to see you try."

But before Arya could draw a pose for a fight, he was on her. Jon did the first thing he could think. Holding her arms down, he drew his own sword, holding it lightly against her throat, "Do not test me. I have spent years with men more cunning than a woman with a knife."

They held each other's eyes, her clearly searching for weakness- the truth in his. In those few seconds he prayed to every God in the Seven that she would not move, she would not test him further. That she would believe.

"Tell me you do not love me," she responded finally.

"I cannot lie. I once loved you like every boy loves his little sister."

With that there was a knock at the door.

"Enter." He yelled, unmoving.

In stepped a blond woman around Arya's age.

He did not turn to see who it was, the woman coming as if on perfect cue.

"I did not know another would be joining us." She answered playfully.

The whore dropped her covering standing naked by the fire.

"She's not. She's leaving."

Seeing the naked woman waiting for company, Arya's feelings of suspicion were replaced with the chilling rationalization of being forsaken. Any words of rebuttal she had formulated garbled in her mind.

He wasn't trying to deceive her, so quickly that month between them forgotten. Their vows dismissed. Their connection abandoned.

"I am sorry I lied to you, took advantage of a foolish little girl. I do not love you." His eyes were bleak, sympathy discharging heavily in his every movement. Sympathy- the one thing Arya could not take. It made her skin crawl.

He lifted her now, carrying her like a child being reprimanded, before placing her outside the door, "We will leave first thing in the morning. Do not do anything stupid. If you run I will find you and not even your father's memory will be able to spare you then."

And with that he slammed the door at her back.

* * *

**So well there you have it. It was kind of abrupt. I just kind of thought it would have to be that way or else Arya would soon wear away at poor Jon's resolve. For some reason this chapter was super difficult for me to plow through and write. Anyhow, obviously Arya isn't going to take this laying down. Thanks for Reading and Reviewing!**


	16. This House No Longer Feels Like Home

**Okay so yes, last chapter Jon defiantly came off as an asshat. But he has found himself in difficult circumstances. He obviously loves Arya. He knew Aegon was carrying a huge torch for her but he figured with time, some reasoning, another chick and oh, yeah the fact that she married his brother, Aegon would move on. But then he reads Bran's prophecy, then Aegon confirms and everything changes. Again impossible circumstances. Robert Arryn, is he the best option? No and yes. He is a child, and a whiny pathetic one at that. However, the Eyrie is impenetrable basically. And if Arya had to marry anyone it might as well be someone she could control. Anyhow that is my argument on Bran/ Jon's quick rationale.**

* * *

**Jon**

He knew she might still be there. And for minutes he waited, still staring at the door. What had he done?

"**_Open the door. Tell her it was all a lie. Tell her you don't care about the future. Tell her you will run with her, across the Narrow Sea. Anywhere as long as you two can be together_!" **His mind yelled.

"Is she your woman?"

The whore brought him back with one question. Was Arya his? He wasn't sure Arya could ever be any person's. But wasn't he, hers? Wasn't she right when she accused him of it? Hadn't he always been hers, since childhood, before he was even aware?

Then he heard Bran's reminder, "_If you love my sister…."_

If he cared and loved Arya, then he would do whatever it took to try to protect her. Taking her to Robert Arryn was sure to set Aegon into a possible jealous rage. But with Stannis Baratheon gaining force and the White Walker threat still looming on the horizon, he could possibly be distracted with her out of sight and hopefully someday out of mind.

If she stayed, if Arya were to remain at King's Landing, she would quickly drive an unmovable wedge between Jon and the two dragons.

He could not stomach the idea of her with him and Aegon would not tolerate her being so close, yet still far. Robert Arryn was possibly his only option. Maybe in the future other arrangements could be made. Maybe if Aegon found another, he could go to Arya. He could tell her then, it was a lie. He could explain to her what he had done to save her, Aegon and the Seven Kingdoms.

"Is she your sister?"

He turned now to the whore he'd paid. Jon had planned for her to come like this, to make this impression. Crushing Arya and separating her from him.

"No. She is not either."

She came to him, her fingers tugging at his tunic, pulling it over his head.

"Stop." As it fell to the floor, he stepped away from the whore and looked back to the door. She was there. He could feel it. Was she waiting for him to confirm that he did not love her? Was she listening to hear him betray her?

He had intended for Arya to leave in anger and for the whore to leave with coin in hand, without performing service. But Arya was nothing if not stubborn.

Pointing to the bed, the woman followed his directions and lay back, spreading herself for him. Under different circumstances, if this had been years ago, he would be excited at the sight. But with his wife waiting on the other side of the door and his life falling to ash, it disgusted him. How would he do this?

* * *

**Arya**

(**_SLAM!_**)

She stood there, eyes wide, face blank. What just happened? Everything she was sure of in life had been immediately erased. For minutes she waited unmoving, not blinking. Then it started, a slow burning, itching at the back of her mind till it fired at every nerve ending.

She reached up on her toes for the torch in front of her, that flickered against the stone walls. Un-holstering it, she turned to the door, her mind gone. So encased in pain, she could not have stopped herself if she wished. With hand on handle, Arya pushed the door open.

On the bed she lay. The whore's back arched, inviting Jon to take her. Shirtless, he stood next to the bed, looking at her splayed form.

"Arya!"

The woman looked up in shock, but Arya did not see. With her eyes focused on Jon, she threw the torch on the bed where they would fuck. The sheets instantly caught fire, the flames cutting through the feather mattress. The woman screamed as the heat hit her, the flare nipping at her skin and hair.

In haste, Jon grabbed the shrieking whore by the arm, dragging her off the bed, his hands attempting to smoother the flames that were smoldering against her skin.

Arya stared at the black smoke that billowed and collected above the bed, the flames licking up the wooden frame, the air becoming sooted. Screams filled her ears but she felt nothing. When something finally grabbed at her arm she came to, "Arya, what are you doing? You need to get out of here!" Jon yelled, tugging her towards the door.

The next moments moved in slow motion as her head turned, seeing the blade she had left next to the bed not even an hour before. Grabbing it, the hot steel seared and molded into the soft skin that cover the palm of her hand. Turning, she fell back with him as Jon pulled her away from the blaze.

On the ground, his arm circled around her waist, dragging her toward the door when he felt her struggle. Launching herself over him, Arya held the blade against his throat. In the smoke-filled room she could barely see, his eyes inches before hers.

Could she do it? Could she kill Jon as easily as she had killed dozens before? Some deserving and some possibly not. The blade pinched against the bones of his throat. But he made no effort to fight her.

With her lungs filling with smoke, her eyes burned, but she would not relent. Jon seemed unchanged and unaffected by the smoke or heat. He only calmly answered her threat, "Do it! Please, I beg you."

His eyes were earnest as he pressed up against the blade, a stream of blood trickling down his neck.

She couldn't. Arya had found a weakness she never experienced before. When faced with a kill, overcome by rage and even justification she could not make herself do it.

She screamed out, crazed, against him. The blade pressing harder against his throat. She was rigid and tense, her weight begging to press down with the knife. Badly she wanted to cut him through and watch him bleed in pain and verbal agony as she did in silence. But she couldn't.

Withdrawing the blade, she slid off him and crawled out the door.

* * *

**Arya and Aegon**

Staggering to the stables she was mildly aware of the throbbing pain coming from her hand. She would find a horse. She would ride the short distance to the Narrow Sea and board the first ship.

It had been years since she had been to the Red Keep. She could not easily navigate through the castle and surrounding grounds as she had before. Turning a corner, she thought would lead her to the stables, Arya found herself dead center in the pits.

Rhaegal sat crouched next to the two other monstrous beasts: one black, the other white. With their heads tucked, none but the green dragon noticed her approach. Its black pupils narrowed as she looked at the creature, small puffs of smoke seeped from its nostrils.

Her heart pounded, as she locked herself in a stare with the horrible beast. With her hand still fused to the knife, she again became keenly aware that she still held the metal. All she could think of was Jon. His face, his smile, his words:

**(Flashback)**

"**_I will follow you into the dark."_**

"**_Where you go I will go. Where you stay I will stay…"_**

"**_What we did was unnatural."_**

"**_I am sorry- I took advantage of a foolish little girl. I do not love you." _**

Blood was dripping from her hand, down her arm, to the ground, where the metal had melted into her skin and bone. Standing next to the beast, the blade raised against its green scales. But the creature stood unmoved, its eye focused on her.

"Fight," She barked. But Rhaegal remained unchanged. Pressing the metal against its skin she yelled this time, "I said fight, you stupid beast!"

Its wings shuttered.

Arya backed away as the dragon rose to its full height, head raised. Its talons, carved through the dirt. Its mouth opened, releasing a piercing scream that shattered the silence of the grounds. Arousing the other two, both black and white now moved, answering their brother's warning.

As the three stood to meet her, Arya held out her blade. "Do it," She taunted.

Answering, the green dragon stepping forward, accepting her challenge, but Arya refused to back down. She would be crushed or burned. If not by Rhaegal, than by one of the other two alerted beasts.

Stepping forward, to antagonize the creature, something pulled her back.

"Stupid girl," he snapped as she fell against him.

Aegon raised his hand, commanding the beast to back. Speaking to them in another language, the three halted in their movement, their heads bobbing in disagreement. As he continued to call out orders, they finally fell back, their bodies crouching again, as before.

"You could have been burnt to death." Still pressed against his back she pushed away.

"I don't need your assistance."

"Really? Fooled me. You were going to fight dragons with a blade? You are either the bravest person alive or the stupidest."

Arya glared at him. Who was he to interfere?

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking for a horse."

"And why do you need a horse?"

"To go to the Narrow Sea."

With fire sprouting up in part of the Red Keep's walls and Arya wandering the grounds looking for a stray horse, it was not difficult for Aegon to put the two together.

** _(flashback hours earlier)_ **

"**_She is promised to Robert Arryn."_**

"**_Who made this promise?"_**

"**_Her brother. She will go to the Eyrie where she will be safe."_**

"**_Arya will be plenty safe here."_**

"**_She will not marry you, Aegon. She will not marry any man."_**

"**_Then what difference does it make if she stays at the Eyrie or in King's Landing?"_**

"**_No one will attack the Eyrie. Aegon, be reasonable."_**

"**_She's a grown woman. She can decide for herself whom she will marry and where she will stay."_**

"The Eyrie does not agree with you?"

"I won't go to the Vale. I'm not some cow to be bought and sold."

"I could not agree more. But you won't make it on the road."

"I have before."

"And what will happen to your brother when Robert Arryn learns that he has broken his agreement? Your brother will soon make more enemies than friends."

Arya's face changed visibly with the thought. She knew she should be indifferent to this now. Bran, Rickon and Sansa were no longer her concern. She was no longer a Stark- nor was she a Targaryen. She was again, No One.

"So you will flee across the Narrow Sea and turn a blind eye as your family falls to death and destruction? I must say I admire your cold sensibilities."

"What would you have me do? Marry a child? Be some idiot's wife, to save something that will never again be mine?"

"No, fight. You must have come back from wherever you were before, for some reason. That reason must have been important to you at one time. Why abandon it now?"

"And how would I fight back?" She mocked, raising the blade.

"You can't fight the entire world, Arya."

"I can die trying."

"Yes, that you can. But any fight is much easier with allies." He pressed down the blade, "I have a proposal for you. Put down your weapon. Stop fighting all your battles alone."

He reached out to brush hair from her face, when her other hand moved, blocking him, "I am not a stupid girl. Your affections won't work with me."

Aegon sighed in exasperation, "I am aware. Believe me. What I am offering you, you will not find elsewhere. Marry me. Form a lasting alliance and in return I'll protect you."

"I don't need your protection."

"Then let me protect those you care about. I can give your brother something that Stannis Baratheon will never offer him."

"And what is that?"

"Freedom. If we marry, as a wedding gift, I will give Brandon the North. He can remove himself from this war and win what your older brother fought in vain to keep."

"Robb fought for justice."

"And he did not find it. The only thing he found was death, as will the other two if they ride into battle with Stannis Baratheon."

"My father did not support the separation of the Seven."

"He too was drug into a war he did not wish to be part of and died needlessly. If your brother were given his own kingdom, which was of course loyal to ours, he could remove himself from these problems."

"And if I were to run?"

"Then you will likely lose whatever it is that you came back for. Your brothers will back Stannis and they'll die. But that won't matter to you, now will it?"

Arya considered his words. Hadn't Winterfell been what she had come back for? Wasn't it the name, Stark, that had drawn her to this miserable place again?

Could she live with herself if she slipped back into darkness and let them be killed? Let Winterfell fall and her father's name die?

Raising her hand, to wipe hair from her forehead, she winced as scorched flesh rubbed against the other.

"Can you not even now, put down your weapon?"

"No," She grunted, trying to flex her fingers but finding them unmovable. "I might now always carry this thing."

Looking at her hand, Aegon realized that the hilt of the blade had been burned into her palm.

"Let me help you." He reached for her, but she recoil. "No. I don't need you." She snapped.

As her other hand pulled at the handle, her teeth snapped together in pain.

"Yes, you do." Grabbing her wrist he examined the wound. "The metal has fused with the skin. It will need to be ripped from its hold before puss sets in."

Beads of sweat pour from Arya's face. "Well, if you are going to do it. Get on with it."

"This is going to be painful," he warned, his face laced with concern.

"Just do it, you-" And then a hideous scream reverberated off the walls of the Keep as he ripped the blade from her hand with heavy force.

Arya's body went limb with shock, as she sunk to the ground. "I hate you," she gasped.

Blooded spilled from the wound, down her arm. Looking for cloth anywhere, Aegon found none. Removing his own linen, he wrapped the around her hand.

"The bleeding will stop soon."

Her body shuttered as they sat there for moments, him on his knees before her, clasping the tunic around her hand.

"We would need to have ground rules," she whispered.

"And what would those be?"

"You will give him the North immediately. You will also pardon and protect my sister, Sansa and any children she may have, no matter the circumstances in the future."

"You do not wish to protect her husband?" He asked, somewhat amused.

Ignoring him, Arya continued, "I will never be a lady or a queen. I will not change. You will have no control of me."

"Could not, even if I wanted it."

"And one last thing," the words puffing out from her still locked teeth.

"Another? The first five were not enough?"

She raised her head now, to look him in the eye, making sure he understood her clearly, "I will never love you."

The smirk that had crept across his face, disappeared. "You may change your mind."

"I won't."

"You will."

Taking her hand from him, she staggered to reach her feet, "I will not. So stop hoping for it now."

"Are we having our first argument?" He smiled, realizing that she would accept and he'd won.

"No. Not the first and probably not the last."

"As long as we reconcile after."

"And there will be none of that."

"A man needs heirs." Now they were into hard bargaining.

"Find whores."

"I don't want bastards."

"I don't want you."

"But you do want freedom for your brothers. I have agreed to your terms. These are mine."

"Find another woman."

"Find another king, to gift you a kingdom."

Hard bargaining. Arya wished the blade was still fused to her hand. She would have to be crazy to agree. This would be the rest of her existence, fighting it out with this idiot? But what options did she have? Would she ever get this kind of opportunity to save something- anything (since she clearly could not save herself) ever again?

"One. That's all you are getting."

"Four. You can name any girls."

"One. " She answered back coldly.

"Three, and you can name them all."

"One and you will take a mistress."

"Three and I will do as I please. But you will not take another man."

"One and I do not need your permission, as previously discussed."

"Three and I can see you as much as I please."

"One and you will see me as much as I allow and share my bed even less."

"Three and we can cross those bridges when we get to them."

"One and we are crossing that bridge now."

"Three. And does that mean that you and I will share a bed tonight?"

"One," Her voice raised, clearly annoyed. "And if you try it, you will never father any children."

"Two, I like even numbers."

"One."

"Two and I will leave you to decide when we will consummate our marriage."

"One."

"Two and I promise to never visit you without permission."

"You will not try to control me? I can do as I please? And you will never attempt to visit me without my permission?"

"Two and yes, I promise on the life of Viserion."

She thought on it, long and hard until she warily replied, "Okay."

"Does this mean we will wed, dearest?"

"You disgust me."

He laughed, "I'll take that as a yes."


	17. Men of Snow

**Dany and Aegon**

"We cannot execute her. Mayhaps we should send her to live with the Sisters?"

"No, she is too beloved. We will keep her here." Aegon answered.

Daenerys watched the woman with him from the window, "As what?"

"A handmaiden?"

Daenerys made a face, "This is your solution?"

"We cannot send her away. We need the favor of the people." As Margaery weaved through the garden, he finished, "She is beautiful, rumored to still be pure."

"Interested yourself, are you?"

"No. I'm just saying it would be a waste to send her to the Sisters. We could make a match for her here."

"Marriage? She has already had two husbands." Daenerys tensed at the thought of any woman being promised in marriage to anyone without their knowledge or consent, having suffered herself the same fate before.

"Many men will not care."

"It seems you have already someone set in mind."

Turning from the window, he answered, "Yes. I do. Jon, he is old enough to take a wife."

"As are, you."

The look she gave him was cold enough to freeze water. Their silent agreement, made years ago, broken without apology.

"And so I will, the Stark girl, as soon as possible," he answered slowly.

"Jon, will not consent."

"To Margaery or the other?"

"Both. He will not take Margaery. And he will not let you marry Arya."

"It is not his decision. He does not speak for her," pausing, he chose his next words carefully, "Dany, this will change nothing."

"Why the Stark girl?"

"To keep Jon close," he offered, but they both knew that was not the reason. Their arrangement, was business, nothing more. Although there was an undeniable affection between the two it was nothing romantic, both with interests elsewhere.

They had a choice. They could wed as their ancestors did, relinquishing ties they had with others, trying to forget feelings they might never have for one another, all in the hopes of retaining power. Or they could strive for something else.

If she wished to, Daenerys knew she could push the matter, force him into marriage. But remembering love that she once felt with Drogo, something in her whispered, "no," and as a result she showed Aegon the first of many acts of love when she answered, "Okay... Marry the Stark girl."

Relieved, he turned to look at Margaery in the garden again, "He would be a fool to say no to wedding the widow."

"How have you convinced the Stark girl to wed?"

"I promised her, I would give her brother the North."

"So you would give freedom to the North and not the Iron Islands?"

"We agreed I would marry the girl to ensure Jon's loyalty."

"Yes, but I never agreed to gifting the Northern Lord a kingdom."

"Without the girl, we will not be able to keep Jon. His loyalties will divide."

"And without this arrangement she will not take you," she stated solemnly.

"She wishes for her family to be removed from the war. This removes the Northern forces from Stannis Baratheon's aide."

"When had you planned on discussing this with Jon and I?"

"Jon will agree. I am surprised he, himself has not suggested it."

"So it is only I who stands in your way?"

"I hoped you would see the logic in this arrangement."

To separate from the North would inevitably become an issue whether under Aegon's arrangement or Jon's insistence. "I will agree, on one condition."

"What is that?"

"You do not try to convince Jon to marry Margaery Baratheon."

"Why do you care whom Jon weds?"

"It is not that I care. It is the fact that I can see it will be a poor match."

"And why is that?"

She looked down to the woman and answered, "I have my reasons."

* * *

**Dany and Jon**

She found him alone in the pits, his hand on the Rhaegal as the dragon responded to his touch.

"I come here often too."

He turned to find Daenery's behind him. She moved toward him, placing her hand on the green dragon, "Its where I come to hide." He didn't answer, only continued to run his hand over the dry scales.

"Who are you hiding from?"

"No one," He answered without making eye contact.

"It doesn't seem that way." She responded softly. "This is home now, Jon. We are your family."

She moved closer to him, placing her hand over his. For the first time ever, he did not move away. He let her touch him.

"Whatever it is that you are holding on to so tight, you need not carry that burden alone anymore."

"And who would carry it?"

"Let me." She took his hand, wrapping her fingers in his, "Whatever it is, it will pass."

Jon took his hand from hers, "It will not. Some things don't disappear with time."

He seemed to carry the weight of the world with him. She had considered that it was the Wall that had made him so, but now she knew it to be something different. The burden he carried was heavier than honor or duty. It was emptiness. She could sense it, the same way she was aware of her own. And it only made her want to comfort him that much more.

She wanted to save him, the same way she had always hoped she would be saved. She was drawn to Jon the way she had been drawn to Asha's companionship. Only with Jon she was consistently denied. Where Asha would cave to her will, as desperate for understanding as her, Jon was repelled by her attempts. Where she wanted to take from Asha: knowledge, affection and even physical release, she only wanted to give to Jon.

"Why do draw away from me, when I seek to show you compassion or affection?"

"I guess I am not used to a female touch." He murmured, stepping backward.

"Or mayhaps you do not feel yourself to be worthy of love?"

"I have known love," he replied in hushed tone.

"From the family that made you their bastard?"

She could see that she had offended him, as his composure seemed to harden, "I have known love."

"From the girl?"

"She is not a girl. Arya is six and ten, soon seven and ten."

"You are very defensive of her. I can see that you still think of her as your sister."

Jon couldn't quite decipher Daenary's intentions. She seemed to always be this way with him. Always standing to close, inquiring too deeply. He questioned if her persistent attention was motivated by the fear that he would not join them. Regardless, he was not about to explain the inner workings of his relationships with her, or discuss something as personal as Arya.

"Yes." He answered at last, hoping that she could leave it at that.

"He will take good care of her when they wed. Aegon will be a good husband."

"He will never be her husband. She is promised to Robert Arryn."

"Well it seems that Lady Stark has decided otherwise. She has accepted your brother."

His ears burned with her words, his spine tingling, "She would not."

"She has. That is why I came to you. Aegon has agreed to grant the North freedom in return."

Jon could barely hear the words coming from her mouth, his mind slowing to a crawl. What had Arya done?!

"That is of course with our agreement…." She finished.

"No." He answered immediately.

"You do not wish for the Stark's have the North?" She was confused. Sure that he would accept this arrangement.

"No. They will not marry."

"They will marry. Aegon is determined to have her and he will."

Jon's mind raced, desperately trying to think of away to stop this before it continued any further.

"If you care about the girl, then let him have her. We will give the North freedom and divide Stannis Baratheon's forces. This is for the best."

Images of Arya cold and in the ground, filtered through Jon's mind. Everything that he had feared was coming to fruition. Arya had foolishly circumvented any hope he had of trying to save her.

"If you wish for her to remain your family, how better to protect her than let your brother marry her?"

He knew then, that the wedding was inevitable. Arya had been given the promise of freedom for Winterfell. The only way to save her was to deny that freedom. The result of which, would likely lead Bran then Rickon to death. If he refused this arrangement she would hate him more than she did now.

He would strip her of the only hope she had left, and for what? If he denied her this, he would only drive her closer to that which he tried to separate her from. And so it came to be that he reconciled in his mind that the only way he could possibly protect Arya was to control himself.

He would stop loving her. He would let her marry Aegon and he would stay away. Bran's prophecy only included his love for her. He had written that it was their marriage, their affection, that would ultimately kill her.

"We will give the North freedom."

* * *

**Arya**

She counted her steps as she walked. Five more and she would be forcing herself into something she wasn't ready to do. Fifteen backward and she could run forever and never look back.

Arya could feel their eyes on her, watching her every move. A hundred people coming to see her march to certain misery. What option did she have? What should she do? Stop, and tell everyone it was a mistake? Run for the doors?

She didn't have to look, to know he was in the crowd. She could feel his eyes on her: watching her, hating her as she hated him. How did they get here? At what point had he stopped loving her as a sister? At what point did she stop thinking of him as her brother? When had it all become a lie?

Was it all a lie?

He told her that he didn't love her. But when, from those nights in bed at the Wall, to the moment she held a knife to his throat, did they lose each other?

Before she could finish the thought, Aegon was taking her hand, pulling her near. Her five steps were over. There was nowhere to go now. Jon had made his choice and she had made hers. She would save Bran, Rickon and Sansa.

She would finish what she had come back from Westeros to do: keep a Stark in Winterfell. However, the day that she left the docks of Braavos, she thought she was coming back to Westeros to find herself, not to be lost permanently.

Turning to face Aegon, she repeated vows different from those she had sworn to Jon under the Heart Tree. What did this make her? She was sworn in marriage to two men. Even if Jon did not acknowledge their union, did that make it any less real? It did not erase their vows from the eyes of the Northern Gods. It did not make the things that they had promised any less binding.

But now what would become of her? Promised in love once and in alliance another, Arya prayed that wherever her father was, that he would understand and forgive her sacrifice.

The men of snow and winter had failed her. Again she was left to fend for herself. Winter was never coming, only the endless insufferable heat of summer.

_"Gone, the man, Snow,"_ was her last thought before the crown of blue roses was placed on her head and her new husband kissed her, sealing their marriage.

* * *

Throughout the entire feast neither could make eye contact with each other. He had never consumed so much in his life. But with each second that passed he reached for the wine again.

"It will be over soon," Daenary's leaned in, whispering in his ear. "I can tell you are uncomfortable."

She tried to subtly move the Dornish favor from reach. But even drunk, Jon was still keenly uncomfortable with her attention and even more aware of her movements. He stopped her, picking up the goblet and finishing its contents.

"If I did not know better, I would think you were deliberately becoming drunk." Her voice tried to convey caution, that they had an audience. But Jon did not care.

"It is a celebration, is it not?" His voice was low and monosyllabic.

Arya felt ridiculous sitting on display in a white gown that was laced too tight. The crown of roses, gave off a heavy sent. Making her nauseated. Reminding her that her fate was now sealed.

She had spent her whole life running from a moment like this very one: being sold like item at market to the highest bidder. Now it was her, that had given herself in sale. Even the thought of Bran, Rickon and Sansa was hardly enough to repress the vast feeling of bleakness that settled over her.

When they called for the bedding ceremony to start, she reached for the wine in front of her, swallowing its entire contents before she was grabbed from her seat.

As she was carried down the corridor, she could feel them ripping at the corseting of her dress. Loud with their intoxicated laughs and jeers. When they set her in the room, the greedy men pulled down at the heavy material. The feeling immediately sent Arya into survival mode. She swung at the men, trying desperately to push them from her.

They only seemed to enjoy her struggle that much more as they ducked from her swings, closing in on her again. She reached for anything to use against them, to fend off this humiliation. As the gown pooled at the feet they moved for her shift, struggling against her as she fought harder. Their hands groped her through the material as they won the battle, dragging it over her head.

When they reached for her small clothes, she twisted away, backing toward the wall when a voice called out in her defense, "Stop. Enough!"

Relieved, Arya sunk closer to the wall, as the men backed away, "You wish to do it yourself?" One called out, as Jon moved his hand to the hilt of his sword.

"You will leave the lady now. The ceremony is done." The men fell back towards the door. Sifting out, they mumbled in drunken discontent that their entertainment was spoiled.

When the room had cleared, Arya looked up, practically naked from her spot on the floor. Ashamed of her cowardice and helplessness, she tried to cover herself, avoiding eye contact. When he handed her the shift, she gratefully took it from him.

"Thank you." She said at last. Holding it to her chest, she slid up the wall and finally looked at the man she had sworn to follow to the grave.

He swayed slightly under her gaze and she could see that he was intoxicated. Arya could not remember a time that Jon had been drunk.

"You are welcome, sister." His words were slow and careful, as if he were trying to avoid slurring them.

She reached for crown of blue roses, trying to remove it from her head, "Do not call me that."

"Why? Is that not what you are? What you always were?" Even in his drunken haze he was well aware that he should leave. But he wasn't ready. In his lapsed state of mind, his desire to be near her, even under these circumstances, override his logic.

"No. I am not now and I was not then."

Arya winced briefly as a thorn from the crown, pricked her finger, drawing blood.

"Married for a crown of thorns…." The words slipped from his mouth, barely audible, but still heard.

The doors burst open as the men heaved Aegon forth. Playfully he fought back, unaware of the tension in the room. Their eyes stayed locked for a moment longer before Jon turned and congratulated Aegon, slapping him on the back half heartedly. His head shift slightly as if to look back but he didn't. They were no longer alone and even if they were, there was nothing left to communicate. She had married his brother and he had made a vow to be indifferent.

She wanted him to say something- anything, to tell her it was a lie. Arya wanted him to confess her that he loved her, that she was fool and had made a mistake. She wanted to know that even though she had married another, that their vows still meant something.

But the words never came. When the door shut behind him, she clutched the adornment tighter in frustrated conclusion, the thorns cutting deeper into her healing hand.

Aegon cleared his throat, bringing her back. She realized that she had dropped her shift, standing there only in her small clothes.

"You look wonderful," he smiled gently.

Arya bent, grabbing the shift again. His joy quickly faded as he was reminded of their agreement, "You need not worry. I meant what I promised."

"Then you will be leaving." She answered coldly.

"No. Not yet. They will be expecting…. I will stay for a short while until they are gone."

"I do not care what they think."

She could see him shift uncomfortably and she felt guilty. Arya could sense that she was being crude and harsh. He had done nothing wrong. If anything, Aegon had been overly accommodating.

"You may stay until they leave. But would you please, turn?"

"Yes, My Lady," He answered, showing her his back, as she slipped the shift back over her head. He realized that this was ridiculous. He was her husband. Any other man would have said as much, but he would not. He had made her a promise. He would not take her, until she came to him. He would not touch her, until she asked him to.

"I'm done. You may turn now."

Silence passed between them for moments until she asked, "Have you sent a raven? Have you promised my brother?"

"Yes, I have given your gift."

"It was not a gift. It was a strategic move, for you. I hope Bran will not be stupid enough to refuse it."

"Arya, I did not give Bran the North for any other reason than to make you happy."

"And how do you know what would make me happy?"

"I know you love your brothers, your family, Jon, Winterfell. I can see it in your face. We have done the right thing." He was cautious until now, careful to meet her words with the same indifference. But he couldn't help himself. All he wanted was to care for her. Show her the affection she denied so regularly.

"We will live well. I promise you that. I'll make you happy." She looked vulnerable and scared. He wanted desperately to comfort her, to show her that things would okay. That he wouldn't hurt her. Taking a chance, he moved closer, slowly, his voice dripping with sincerity, "I won't hurt you….Just let me care for you."

"I'm not who you think I am." Her chilly words stopping him mid-step. "And who is that?"

"Whatever you have made up in your mind... That is not me."

With that, she moved to the door, opening it, as an invitation for him to leave. Sighing, he passed, standing outside. She'd thrown him off guard. It seemed the harder he tried to show her his sincerity, the further she withdrew.

It was exhausting. "Then who are you?"

"Lost…" The word fell out of her mouth, like a shameful confession and he could see moisture pooling in her eyes. And with that, she shut the door, closing him and the world out.

Aegon stood there confused. What did that mean, Lost? Why was she so frustrating?

"Arya?" She could hear his hand slide down the door. Arya hadn't locked it. He could push it open if he wished, but he didn't.

"If you are not, who I believe you to be, then tell me who you are. If not at least let me try."

And with that, on the other side of the door, her exterior cracked. Arya cried for her loss, for Jon, for her anger and for the misery that was swallowing her.

She never said another word and neither did he. Both sat in silence the entire night on the floor, with the door between them. As man and wife, they should now be close but were still worlds apart.

XXXXXX  
**Okay bummer chapter. I will try to make the next one a little more spicier. Thank you for reading and reviewing. **


	18. Throw me a rope

**Sorry it took me so long to update. Between studying and going back and editing old chapters that I posted a day apart, I've been busy. Thank you though to all of you, those have commented since. Your comments have made me smile. **

* * *

**Jon  
**

"Would you like some company, Mi' Lord?"

The young woman had placed her hands unsubtle on his britches. Looking up at her, through a haze of drink and anger, Jon was half inclined to accept.

"I could make it most worth your wild. No charge," she purred as she rubbed him. Against his own will, he found his hips ever so slightly moving up, to cradle her touch.

The room was filled with men. Most of them, men of the court, mixed with a few soldiers. Jon spotted Aegon from the corner of his eye. Aloof, he sat hunched, speaking to an advisor who seemed none to intent on whatever was coming out of his mouth.

"_Lucky bastard," _Jon thought, as the woman settled herself on his lap. She couldn't have been more than eight and ten. With long blond hair and green eyes, she was easily the most beautiful woman in the room. And for some reason she had found him. In the weeks since he had come to the Red Keep, Jon had attracted the attention of more than a few women, both whores and ladies alike.

Still focusing on Aegon, he ignored the woman as she pawed at his outer clothing, planting kisses on his neck- her hands finding other, covered places. For any man of four and twenty, the constant attention of the females of court and other, impolite society, would have been most distracting. But for Jon, it had become a nuisance. Although his body was more than willing, after years at the Wall, his mind couldn't stand the thought. Every woman that touched him, every female face that glanced his way, was Arya. His mind was tormented by her.

"Please, Mi' Lord. I only wish to show you my admiration." Her hand groped him, finding his body all too willing. But still his eyes couldn't leave Aegon. Did he understand what he had? Now that he had taken Arya, was he foolish enough to be satiated? Would he be stupid enough to find other women?

As another beauty attempted to crawl into Aegon's lap, Jon watched as he pushed her away. The woman, undeterred, reached down to whisper in his ear. Aegon's companion, the counsel man, that he had been deep in one sided conversation with moments earlier, had abandoned him. Alone, Aegon looked at the woman. With a low cut smock, pretty face, and less than pure intentions, she again, mounted his lap.

"_He'll do it,"_ Jon's mind whispered. Although, he loved his brother dearly, he wished from the depths of his soul that he would do this disgusting thing. Jon wished that Aegon would respond to the woman. He wished that he would hastily kiss her back and let her lead him out of sight to do unholy things to him. Why? Maybe to prove in Jon's mind that he was unworthy. In his jealous anger and fury, Jon couldn't see straight for the past week. All he could think of was Aegon: his hands on her, his lips touching her, his mouth whispering all the things Jon wished to say.

Jon wanted Aegon to fall from his pedestal, to prove that he was still human and therefore wholly unworthy of Arya. But he wouldn't. Without a moment's thought, Aegon pushed the woman from his lap. Saying whatever was necessary for her to understand that her advances were unwelcome.

"Come on, Mi' Lord," her hand circled the outline of his cock as it pressed painfully against his britches. "Let me give you pleasure."

As he watched Aegon rise, he knew what he was doing. He was going to his wife. Jon's wife. To do everything that Jon had wanted to do.

The woman pulled at his hand, tugging him up. The anguish that Jon felt was only mixed with the lust that his body could not control.

"One thing," he couldn't stand to look at the woman, no matter how beautiful.

"Yes Mi' Lord?" She was more hesitant than she had been moments before. Her hands tucked behind her back as she looked up at him warmly.

Jon considered that he was being rude asking. He knew what he was going to do was wrong. Or was it? He wasn't married. He had terminated that agreement. He had done it all for her. He'd suffered this unbearable feeling only to keep her safe. Should he not seek comfort? Ned Stark would say no. But did Ned Stark give his wife to another? Did Ned suffer hourly, as he did now?

"Let us not speak." He gulped the words down, even as he spit them out. He was disgusted with himself, but so caught up in misery that he needed to do something. If he did not find release, if this pain did not subside somehow- anyhow, he would likely much rather die.

The woman, somehow understanding the look in his eye, took his hand. The touch was less affection as it was business like. She understood, without a word further, that he was hurt.

"Yes, Jon." And with the use of his first name, however unconventional and inappropriate, she led him away to give him even a moment's relief from his grief.

* * *

"I'm leaving."

Seated around the large wooden table, the other advisers had already been dismissed, leaving only the three of them.

"Where will you go?" Leaning back in his seat, Aegon had seen this coming for a week. Something heavy seemed to be weighing on Jon. He'd distanced himself from everyone, Aegon included.

"To the Wall."

While Aegon had sat contemplative, Daenerys's stammered, "You cannot! Jon, it is not safe for you to go to the Wall. Stannis's forces are crawling all over the northern boarders. If they were to come for you, you could not defend yourself alone."

"I'll be fine. You worry too much."

Collecting his thoughts, Aegon answered, "No, she is right. It is too dangerous for you to go so far north."

"I do not need your permission."

"You do not. But as my brother, I ask that you stay."

Jon, sat back, unwilling to concede. He needed to go. He couldn't stand being there any longer. The silence between him and Arya was stifling, the thought of Aegon and her together, unbearable.

"I can't be here."

"If you wish to go, for whatever, we cannot stop you. However, I suggest somewhere else."

Daenerys leaned towards him, understanding his need to leave the restrictive confines of King's Landing and its eyes, "Go to Dragonstone. It needs a Lordship. A Targaryen should be there, as your father was, so long ago."

* * *

**Dany and Jon**

She had followed him out of the room, forgetting Aegon, mid conversation.

"Jon!" She trailed after him, holding the bottom of her dress from catching beneath her feet.

He stopped. Even if he didn't wish to be in her company, he couldn't find it in himself to be rude.

"Please, just listen," she panted as she caught up to him. With her hand on the stone wall, she steadied herself and caught her breath before she continued, "I know how you feel. I understand that you wish to leave. But, please don't do this. Go to Dragonstone if you seek refuge. I swear if you wish to be removed for a time, you will be there."

Both were so caught up in their conversation: her begging him to reconsider, him trying to politely reject her request, that neither had noticed that they weren't alone.

Walking alone in the halls, Arya had scarcely meant to meet anyone until she had stumbled upon them. She could have easily turned away and had every intention of doing so, not wishing now or possibly ever, to encounter Jon again. But then she saw them, she couldn't.

Daenerys was on him in seconds. Her mouth coming down hard on his as her hands clutched the back of his tunic. She had considered that he might fight but she didn't care, for some reason she felt compelled to do it.

"Please, don't go. Anything you need… we will find a way. Just, do not go north."

Jon didn't stop her, he just stood completely still.

* * *

**Margaery**

"I hear she's not a maiden."

Sitting amongst four other ladies of the court, Margaery continued working at her needlepoint, "I should say not. She is married."

"Not by way of her husband. They say they don't share a bed. Not now or ever."

Margaery stopped mid stitch, eyebrows raised, "Ever?"

"Yes, Mi' Lady. It would seem the new Lady Targaryen does not suit her husband's desires."

"He is wonderfully handsome, don't you think Lady Baratheon?" Another woman cooed. Margaery smiled, returning to her work, "Yes. That he is."

"They say she worked at a brothel across the Narrow Sea."

"I imagine she filled a particular taste in those ridiculous britches she wears."

"It's a shame a man like that was wasted on such a woman. He should have married a real queen," the women passed glances amongst themselves, smiling at Margaery.

"If he dislikes her so, he can still remarry."

"Targaryens haven't taken sister wives in some time, Lady Baratheon."

Sitting amongst a group of witless gossips, although tiring, had its benefits, she decided. Plastering an inviting smile on her face, Margaery answered, "If their marriage is not consummated…"

"Not many men will annul a marriage on the grounds of not bedding their wife, Mi Lady."

Married twice, both in less than pleasing circumstances, Margaery had no intention of marrying a third time foolishly. She had always known she was meant to be a queen. Denied twice, three times technically, she had become quick at the games of court and even more persuading with the minds of men.

"That they would not."

* * *

**Arya**

"You cheat!" The guard looked down at the board, red faced. Lazily picking up her glass of mead, Arya brought her knee to her chest, her bare foot dangling off the wooden bench. "I need not cheat to beat you."

The small crowd of equally intoxicated guards peered down at the board, "I think you lie." Taking a small dagger from beneath her tunic, she placed it on the table, "Are you sure?"

Disinterested in the activities of the other ladies, Arya had spent the past month in relative isolation. Aside from the time sparring with a few of the King's guards and her nights spent betting dragons on a game of cards or chess, she rarely left her room. The men of the guard at first were hesitant of the Arya, watching their words, curbing their drinking. Now she had become less of an intruder and more of a fixture.

"Don't wave your toys at me, Mi' Lady," the guard answered, half amused, partially threatening.

She smiled, sweetly responding, "Unlike you, kind fool, mine is not just for decoration." When he went to reach for the blade, he found it stabbed into the wood, just grazing his left knuckle. Snatching his hand back, he went to rise in anger, momentarily forgetting himself, until he was stopped.

With a pair of hands forcing him down, another guard soothed, "Aye, man. Stand down. She is just a wee thing. Not worth getting yourself killed over."

"Any challengers?" Removing a few dragons from her pocket, she plunked them down on the table, in front of her.

"I'll challenge you." The small group turned to find Aegon leaning against the far wall, his expression less than amused. The men cleared their throats, stepping out of the way as he approached. "So nice to see my wife is being so closely protected."

"My Lord, We were, er…."

Aegon held up his hand, stopping their excuses, as he took the empty seat before Arya. "Using our security resources, I see," he commented dryly. Draining one of the glasses before her, she stared indifferently back, "Just adding to the house treasury."

"How considerate of you. Winning I take it?"

"Aye, she's good My Lord." One of the men offered.

Reaching into his own pocket, he produced three dragons, placing them alongside hers, "She hasn't been properly challenged."

Lifting the dagger, from its implanted place in the table, he tucked it into his boot, "I'll keep that safe for you."

Somewhat interested, but more or less too intoxicated to object, she poured him wine and urged it forward. "Afraid of losing, are you?" Her eyes narrowed, as the corners of her mouth twitched.

Returning her smirk, he accepted the glass, raising it to his lips, "No, quite the contrary. I worry of your sportsmanship."

"If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't use a knife." Forgetting that they were in the company of others, he replied with a raised eyebrow, "Oh?", before taking a sip.

"No, I'd use poison, dear husband. Much cleaner." She watched him choke briefly, before setting the glass down.

The first hour of the game they held an audience but by hour three all of the men had either drifted to sleep or left for livelier entertainment. With just the two of them left, the competition had become a struggle of wills.

"You're quite good. Who taught you?"

Not breaking her focus from the board, she answered, "Robb and Jon. They hated losing almost as much as you."

"I have not lost yet."

She smiled, her finger toying with a piece on the board, "But you will."

"What was he like, Robb?"

"Robb? Kind, loyal, stubborn."

"Must run in the family." Ignoring his remark, she placed another piece of his on her side, "Who taught you?"

"Griff, he was… I guess my guardian. I didn't have many friends when I was young."

"You? Short on friends? It must have been your humble nature that drove them away."

"Yes, hard to believe," he retorted dryly.

"You? Did you have a close friend?"

Shrugging, she finally looked up from the board, "Jon, maybe Bran."

"Not your sister?"

"Sansa and I were never friends… we had different tastes."

Her voice trailed off as she spoke about her family and Winterfell. Aegon listened patiently, commenting ever so often, questioning at times. In the weeks since their marriage she had hardly spoken to him, mostly avoiding him at all costs. It may have been the wine or loneliness that had finally loosened her tongue, either way Aegon didn't care. These small details of her childhood, her life, felt hard won.

When she spoke of her father in particular he could seem warmth enter her face, a smile crack at her lips. Finally she lost interest in the game, freely answering his questions. It was then, exhausted and half drunk, that Aegon seized the opportunity to win. Picking up her king, he called out, "Check mate."

Eyeing the board, she seemed to be replaying the past five moves in her head, recalculating where she may have made an error, "You cheated," she stated in disbelief.

"No. I won. There is a difference."

"You must have cheated. I had you on the run…" Arya traced her moves with her fingers.

"I have more experience than you. I out maneuvered your attempts."

He watched as she bit the inside of her mouth, clearly trying to stop herself from pouting. "Now you see why I took your blade."

Pushing the dragons towards him, she forced a smile and answered, "It appears you have won. Your money, Ser."

"No. Keep it. I think I will ask for something else for my prize."

Sliding the coins into her pocket she stood from the table, sauntering past him, "I'm afraid to ask."

As he followed behind her, he watched as her bare feet pad down the dimly lit halls. Her hand reached out, brushing the stones as she went, more for stability then absentminded playfulness.

"You haven't asked what it is that I want."

Turning to answer him, "Just take the money," her foot caught on a crack in the stone floor causing her to stumble. "Careful," reaching out he caught her arm, drawing her back from gracelessly hitting the ground.

Intoxicated, but still at full mental capacity she wrenched her arm from his grasp, backing herself into the wall. Sighing, Aegon stepped back, politely giving her space, "Will there ever be a time when you won't recoil from my touch?"

He watched, as she looked down, not in shame but resignation. She couldn't help herself. She could see that he was trying, had been trying for weeks. He was consistently making attempts to engage her in conversation. During the days, when afforded the time, he would come to the pits to watch her spar with the men of the King's Guard. At night she could feel him stop outside her door. Hesitating, as to whether or not he should knock and deciding against it.

His patience was dwindling and that sooner, rather than later, it would eventually snap. But she couldn't bring herself to let him touch her. She couldn't force herself to return his attention. She was being swallowed by darkness. Her waking thoughts consumed with regret and Jon, her nights sleepless. His attention only served to rip off the scabbing of fresh wounds, reminding her that he wasn't Jon. That their connection was gone and she was trapped.

Trying to remain calm, Aegon continued, "What do I have to do? What can I possibly say?"

"_Be someone else,"_ her mind whispered. But in response, she answered, "Stop looking at me as if I were something to eat."

At once he laughed. If nothing else she was still sharp tongued. "I didn't know I was. My apologies." How was he supposed to look at her? He felt like a starved man, sitting at a banquet table of untouchable food.

"How would you like me to look at you?"

"Like a person, not something to be possessed."

Aegon's cheeks flushed at her astute observation. "Um, yes. I would be lying if I said I didn't want you. You're my wife. Is that not how a man is supposed to feel about his wife?"

Not answering, Arya continued down the long hall, with Aegon trailing after her. Observing that he was losing ground rather than gaining, he attempted, "My prize. I know what I want."

Hesitating, Arya turned, "Yes and what is that?"

"Maybe if I could be your friend? I'm not use to you. Mayhaps if I was, if we spent more time together, things could be less…" he paused, searching for the right word, "strained between us." Although numb, Arya wasn't quite heartless. The sincerity in his voice was enough to make the most indifferent of persons, feel.

"Okay," she answered tentatively. Feeling as if he'd won some great war, instead of gaining ground in their small battle, a smile cracked at the corners of his mouth, "I would like that."

* * *

**Aegon and Arya**

"I'm not looking." With his back turned, he smiled as he heard her slip under, send slight waves passed his shoulders.

"You can turn now." Her brown hair, no longer braided, floated on top of the water. She looked like a nymph.

Wadding towards him, she shivered, "Its cold."

"I never promised it would be warm." Miles from the Keep, the two had ridden into the nearby woods, seeking relief from the heat in the lake. Hesitant, like children scared of being caught, they stripped and ran to the water.

Rubbing her shoulders, to recede the goose pimples that had risen, she chattered, "I heard there is a monster that lives in this lake."

"Yes, I have heard that also. It's supposed to be longer than any ship with green slimy scales." Aegon's silver hair looked like it glowing from the reflection of the water. With his face hovering just above the surface, as he continued, "A man came to the Keep just the other day claiming that it took one of his live stock- snatched it up right on that shore." He pointed now to the rocks behind Arya, "And he isn't the first."

Turning, she examined the beach, "You jest. How could the beast possibly take a cow from those rocks?"

"It is said to have both legs and fins. Teeth like a wolf and skin like a dragon."

He could see her shivering as he continued, " It's said to prefer human blood," as he spoke, he slowly moved closer, inching near her as she listened, absorbed completely by his story.

"You cannot be serious. Monsters don't exist."

"Yes, they do. I've seen a few myself. They use to say that dragons no longer exist."

"How long has it been here?" She looked down, as if she would see it swimming below her.

"Years…" Ducking under the water, he grabbed at her foot pulling her under. She kicked hard, in surprise then panic, before she stopped, clearly realizing that it wasn't the beast trying to drag her to the lake's depths.

"You ass!" When he emerged, she reached out to hit him in retaliation. Ducking from her blow, he swerved left, "It is not my fault that you're so gullible."

"In fact," ducking his head under the water he went to reach for her again, when she struggled away. "You promised you wouldn't look."

"I did not such thing. I said I would turn as you entered the water. Now hold still, I haven't gotten a good view yet," smiling, he teasingly went to go below the surface again when Arya grabbed him by the hair, yanking him up. "Letcher! So very dishonorable."

"Never claimed to be honorable either," he reached for her then, trying to pull her in, as she struggled away. Swimming, just out of his reach, she'd almost escaped when he caught her foot, dragging her back.

Covering herself, she answered, "At least you aren't a liar."

"That I am not." Now face to face, he had dropped her foot, letting her hover in front of him. "I won't look. I'm just jesting you."

In the months since they had begun their tentative acquaintanceship, the uneasiness between them had dissipated as he had predicted. With time, each other became familiar and comforting, except for moments like these. With Jon gone and away from her family, Arya had no other friends to speak of, other than Aegon. However, with the ease of their new found relationship came the reminder that by law and the Seven gods, they were bound by more than the ties of friendship. They were married.

And in moments like this, when he slipped, looking at her in less than a friendly way, Arya had found herself feeling less uncomfortable and something rather than repulsion.

Nothing but the sound of running water and the rustling of leaves in the background passed between them for moments, as they floated in locked gaze. Slowly, without permission, beyond his own knowledge or will, he narrowed the foot that lay between them, pressing his lips softly against hers.

He hadn't tried to kiss her since they wed and although she had been aware that they did kiss at the end of the ceremony, she didn't remember his lips being so warm or inviting. Floating, lips placed softly upon lips, beneath the surface, the heat from each other's body seemed to neutralize the ice cold water.

In the warmed haze, Arya allowed her mouth to be parted ever so slowly. Giving him the only invitation he'd ever received and so willingly took. His fingers, as light as the water that flowed passed them, traced her spine, encouraging her to let him near.

But when they stopped at the base of her and his hand lay flat, Arya's blank mind suddenly filled with images: **_Winterfell: snow falling on cedar and a pair of warm hands holding her much in the same way, under the heart tree. And then the words came to her again, "I am yours, as you are mine." Jon. Jon. Jon!_**

"Stop. No." Pulling away violently, she waded feet from him, as though he were trying to assault her person.

"Arya…" his voice was a mixture of confusion and frustration, "What did I do?"

"Nothing, I just can't. Don't ask me to."

"I'm sorry," wading closer to her, he meant to reach out when she recoiled from him, much the same way she had a months before. "Don't." She whispered, turning from him, "I don't want to be touched."

"But I'm your husband," his voice was as much full anger as it was helplessness.

Embarrassed at her own outbreak of emotion, Arya reacted the only way she knew when upset or scared: she lashed out. "Hells if I care!"

"You act as if I force myself on you. Do you know how many men-" he stopped himself mid sentence realizing that he was yelling. Leveling his voice, he continued, "I ask nothing of you. Many men would not be as understanding. You are my wife."

Clearly not taking note of his cautious restraint, she yelled, "So as your wife you may do with me as you please?! You are an idiot. You gave a kingdom, just to feel as if you owned something, all because it was denied to you. You are a damn fool. I will never want you."

He wasn't sure if he was shocked or angered. Was she right? Had he given Bran the north blindly, all because he would have done anything to have her? Granted it did prove to be somewhat of a strategical move. But even if it was not, wouldn't he have done it regardless?

With the warmth of their kiss, moments earlier, gone, he could only feel the cool chill of water and embarrassment. She was right. He had been a fool. He continued recklessly to give himself to an unwilling receiver. He could have found something- anything to yell back in retaliation, but what was the point? He waded downstream and left the water.

As Arya watched him leave, she considered following. She shouldn't have yelled. She shouldn't have recoiled. His resolve and patience were wearing thin. He was her husband and it had been three months since they had wed and still she had not come to him. But more than her husband, he had become her friend.

Although she meant to continuously stop herself, she could not deny that often, in moments like they had just had, she felt that same pull. She did not know when or how it had come about, but she found herself wishing to seek his company, wanting him to touch her, even when it did produce feelings of guilt.

* * *

Standing outside his chamber, she hesitated, looking down the long dark hall. She could leave and he would never know that she had come. There was still time to reconsider.

She had sat for an hour in that lake, thinking of what had passed between them and their time together over the past months. Somewhere between freezing to death and stubbornness, logic had been completely forgotten and she made her decision solely based on a feeling. One she hoped wasn't wrong.

Gathering her courage, she pushed the door open, finding him pouring over a pile of maps and books. Looking up, he scowled, "I am not in the mood for an argument."

"We need to speak."

"Write it out and give me the speech on the morrow."

She fought against her instinctual annoyance.

"I am ready."

He looked up to question for what (?), when he saw her reaching for the neck of her shift to draw it over her head. Suddenly he understood precisely what she meant.

"Wait," he interjected. Rising from the table of maps, he had suddenly forgotten whatever problems had plagued his mood moments before.

As his violet eyes looked down at her, she wasn't sure if he was upset or confused. His hands hesitated for a moment before he tentatively touched her shoulder then face, "What I said before…. I was angry."

"I haven't come because of what you said."

For the first time she reached for him without provocation. Tugging at his chin, she pulled him down till his lips met hers. As their kiss deepened she reached for his tunic, her fingers tracing the hem before she lifted it over his head.

Still confused and overwhelmed, his breath caught in the back of this throat as her fingers danced over his chest and stomach, before reaching for the laces of his pants. When her hands fumbled for a second, he quickly was brought back to the reality of the situation. This was not some whore or one of the eager females, at the Keep, who regularly attempted to enter his bed. This was Arya, who was young, nervous and undoubtedly naïve.

"Wait," he whispered, his hand stilling hers. As if to answer her question, he reached down grasping the material of the shift, pausing for her permission. When no objection was made, he lifted the thin cotton inch by inch, exposing her skin, until the material fell to the floor.

He'd try to take his time.

Guiding her backwards to the bed, he softly lifted and placed her, instructing, "Lay back," as he tried to override his immediate desire to quickly take her. When she complied, he settled himself below, spreading her thighs. Her skin chilled and prickled as she tensed.

"I'll not hurt you." His hands moved over her legs, warming her before he dipped his head between her knees. Slowly he kissed her, his thumbs massaging her hip bones as he pressed against the spot that caused her hips to lunge forward. Patiently he held her in place as he continued. It had been years since he had cared to be so attentive to a female, if ever.

Curious as to what he was doing, she lost all interest in questioning when her body went limb. Trying to muffle her own involuntary noises, she finally, tensing again, her nails dug into his shoulders as she shuttered and finished.

Overwhelmed, her heart was pounding as he kissed her legs, hip bones and stomach, stopping at her breasts. Taking a nipple in his mouth he roughly rolled his tongue over each, while his fingers brushed the other. Continuing his gleeful exploration, he could feel that she was responsive again as her back arched, meeting him. Reaching her mouth, he kissed the corners.

Embarrassed by her reaction, she had hardly noticed when he had stripped, but suddenly, in the midst of physical sensation, Arya was again aware, causing her body stiffened unconsciously.

Shifting above her, he could see her innocence again. She had come to him confident and provocative, as she had that night in White Harbor. And her bravado was almost enough to convince him, until he could see in her face that she was neither. Arya was scared, hesitant and truly not desiring to continue, causing Aegon to second guess himself.

Conceding, he bent instead and kissed her nose, "Good night, wife," moving to lie beside her.

Arya's eyebrows furrowed as her body relaxed, "That is it?" She whispered, confused.

"Yes."

"I'm ready." Her voice wavered slightly at the end, betraying her.

"No. I'm patient." He was moving to dress, when her arms blocked his shoulders, "Don't go."

Arya was nervous, hesitant and ashamed of it. She had survived on her own for nine years, killed men, braved beyond the Wall and something as simple as coupling had her cowering like a child. She was overcome by anticipation, anxiety and shame. As ready as she may be, in the back of her mind she still felt as if she were doing something wrong. She felt like she was betraying Jon.

This battle of conscience had been raging for so long that if felt like an eternity. Had Jon not moved on? Had she not seen him, months before with Daenerys Targaryen? How long could she continue like this? Her logic, tired of the struggle, fought back against her memory, as it whispered its reassurances, "_That's gone and never coming back. He does not love you. He lied. It is done_."

Pushing Jon from her mind, Arya's hand shook as she touched Aegon's face, "Please, let me have what I want. For it may be the first time. I'm not afraid."

"Yes, Arya. You are."

She shifted beneath him, pressing closer, "Then show me not to be."

Aegon considered her request, weighing his desire against the impending culpability. Leaning in, he carefully brushed long strands hair from her face, explaining to her, "It will be painful…."

Even with her willing, he was still afraid somewhere in the back of his mind, that he'd do something wrong and break the fragile olive branch that she had extended. At six and ten, Griff had taken Aegon to a house of pleasure. He told him it was a rite of passage. Since then Aegon had taken women to bed. And of the women he had taken, in his five and twenty years, he had never found himself unsure. He had never found himself guessing. Even from those first, unguided, fumbling touches, in the house of pleasure at six and ten, he seemed to know what to do.

But Arya was different. Now, faced with the prospect of what they were about to do, he found himself scared shitless, "If I do something, and you do not like it… tell me."

"Yes."

Furthering her case, she took his hand in her own, kissing his palm in an uncharacteristically intimate gesture.

He waited only moments before gently and with care, he entered her, causing Arya's face to freeze for seconds in pain as her body adjusted, attempting to accommodate him.

Aegon's mind was flooded with desire and lust. He might have lost himself and continued in haste, if he had not seen the pained, uncomfortably look on her face. "Are you okay? We can stop."

She whispered, "No. Continue," tilting her hips up to meet him in encouragement. With that, he started again, slowly. Taking his time, his lips moved affectionately over her face and neck.

The kissing and touching lasted minutes, consumed with each other's response. Eventually, however, their exploration became unbearable, for both, as he could feel her tighten around him.

For everything that Septa had told her, Arya was sure now, more than ever, that her nurse maid had either been mistaken or had never done anything like this. She had described coupling as something that was a burden- something horribly terrible. Were they doing it right?

She didn't know what she was saying, or even what she meant. She only knew that something was coming, similar to before.

"Please," She breathed, her arms wrapping around him. Understanding completely, his hands found her lower back pressing her closer to him, as he answered, without thought, "Just let me love you, " into her ear and neck. Seconds later, Arya buried her face in his shoulder and released in finish, followed shortly after, by Aegon.

As they lay there post coital, in satisfied exhaustion, she moved regaining her senses, attempting to leave the bed, when he stopped her, "Where are you going?"

"To my room, to sleep."

Aegon wanted to bark out, "NO! Stay here," but remembered that this was his wife, not some whore and furthermore it was Arya. She would do as she pleased with no concern for his opinions or feelings about the matter.

"I would like for you to stay, if you wish." He replied gently. She considered his request, answering, "Alright," as she moved down under the bedding.

They lay there in slick heated silence wrapped around each other, until he spoke, "Arya you are not something for me to posses. I could never own you, only love you."

"And what happens when you tire of that?"

"Arya, I will not tire of you. Why are you so sure I will?"

"Because that is what happens. People make promises. They lie, change their minds or die. No one ever stays."

"Not everyone goes, Arya." She shifted uncomfortably, resenting the moment of intimacy.

"I'll always be honest with you…. I've vowed to stay with you till death and so I will."

"What if you find me to be displeasing?"

"You are already displeasing and still you are not rid of me."

"What if I were ugly?"

"Then I would be ugly as well."

"You could never be ugly…" She whispered.

"Was that a compliment?"

Her face scrunched with his smugness, "I regret it already. Forget I mentioned it."

"Why do you worry you would be ugly? That question is absurd."

She blushed, "When I was a child they use to call me, Arya Underfoot."

Aegon paused for consideration, "Who are these fools? It does not matter if you were ugly or beautiful. You are you. And even if I were blind and never saw you again, I would feel the same."

"What if I couldn't have children?" She challenged.

What if he never had sons or daughters? Would that really even matter now? Daenerys may again take a husband and have children; Jon would find a wife. One of the three dragons would surely produce an heir, "Then it would still be you and I."

"The two of us? Till death?" She seemed leery of the prospect.

"Did I forget to mention that detail before we wed?"

"That's a long time…." Her voice trailing off in thought, as they both laid there unmoving.

Arya's last words hung in the air like that for awhile. Finally, warm against him, she was drifting off to sleep when he finally whispered, "I hope someday you will love me. But even if you never do, know this, no matter what, I'll never change my mind."

He wasn't sure whether she was still awake at this point or whether he was talking to himself. Regardless, he continued, "No man or woman will ever come between us."

Holding her still close, he nuzzled his face further into her tangled curls, "Songs will be sung of our sons' honor and bravery, our daughters' beauty. And when we die, they will say that no king loved his queen, as I loved you."


	19. Colorblind

**Hello! To answer some questions. No, technically Arya isn't married to Jon, at this point, because they never consummated their vows. No. That is not it. I wish it was some days, so I could be more productive with my study time. I would wager that at this point in time, in my mind, the story is about half way through, maybe? Dany, yes I am aware that the kiddos for her are probably not a possibility. But I'm pretty sure that she hasn't or wouldn't bring that up to Aegon, mostly because there hasn't been need to do so. Margaery… well there is a reason why she is showing up. So yes, she will play a role in the future and most likely not as a likable character. Will Asha show up? Yes, I haven't forgotten about her. Her and Stannis have some unsolved business. Over all I wanted to add like five more scenes into this chapter but I decided to cut a bunch because it was getting a little long. **

* * *

**Sansa/ Gendry**

Reaching out, he touched the soft patch of hair on the chubby baby's head and smiled at Sansa.

"Are they supposed to look like this?" She looked down as the baby bundled between them and smiled, "I think so. I don't know. She is beautiful thought, isn't she?"

After Arya left, something changed between the two of them. The tension that had been there began to dissipate and finally fizzled. They both seemed to be able to breathe again. And as they settled into a comfortable acquaintance in those first four months of her pregnancy, their acquaintance became a friendship.

But never love, until later.

"_Take your daughter." She had been in labor for close to a day, her red hair pressed, matted and flat against her face, her eyes tired._

_Cautious, he took the bundle of white cloth from her as she held it up to him._

"_I thought we'd name her Catelyn, for my mother."_

_The child was so small that he was afraid he'd crush it. But as he moved the blanket and looked down at the sleeping lump, the strangest feeling came over him. While Sansa was pregnant, Gendry had worried what kind of father he could possibly be. Never having a father himself, the concept seemed foreign. _

_A thought came to him. He had made this. This small person he was holding was his. It was then that Gendry first felt true, uncomplicated, unconditional love._

"_She's ours?" He stammered._

"_I should hope so." Settling back into the freshly changed bedding, she moved to make space, "Sit with me. Lay here with me and our daughter."_

Even now, he wouldn't be able to pin point the moment it happened, but somewhere it did.

"_Do you think she will look more like you or I?"_

_Sansa smiled, cradling the child to her breast, "I think she has your eyes. But her face is a Stark."_

_Gendry paused in thought, an image of Arya came to mind for the first time in weeks._

"_I'm not my sister." She seemed to always know when his mind drifted to Arya. It was if she could sense the betrayal. _

"_I know that." He answered softly._

"_I cared for someone once too."_

_Settling down, with his head next to her chest, he answered, "Who was he?"_

"_The man you killed."_

That night they lay awake, long after the child was asleep and talked for hours. She told him of Sandor, The Vale, and Joffrey. He told her of the Brothers, Arya, and the King's Road. By the time they had both fallen to sleep it was if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and there, under the basis of honesty, they fell in love.

* * *

**Arya and Aegon**

She watched his chest slowly rise and fall as the sun peaked through the window. He looked like an angel. As much as Arya hated to tell him, he was beautiful, in a way that no man, she'd ever see, had been. He wasn't hairy like most men, except for a few soft patches on his chest and the light stubble on his face.

She had been watching him for some time. Earlier, she'd woken, feeling something warm pressed against her back, an arm tucked under her ribs. She smiled with her eyes closed. Jon. Scooting closer to his warmth she looked down to find tanned skin next to her dull white. Confused, she turned in waking, to realize she'd been dreaming. This wasn't Jon and she wasn't at the Wall.

Remembering the past four months, she felt a sick sinking feeling of loss. The same feeling she'd woken with for months. She pushed the feeling down.

What was it her mother had always said, something about making your bed and lying in it? Jon had made his bed, with ease and swiftly found someone to lie with. Looking at her sleeping husband, her skin itched from her memories of the night before. She'd most certainly made hers.

Moving further into the crook of Aegon's arm, she carefully put Jon into the smallest box she could imagine and hid him along with all forgotten memory. Of all the bed's to lie in, she could have done worse.

She'd held out for a while, content with watching him sleep. She'd known him as a friend but never seen him like this, in such an intimate way. Finally, she couldn't help herself. Reaching up, she traced the smile that had been fixated on his sleeping face all morning.

When his eyes snapped open, she almost regretted it. "Good morning."

"Hi." Looking down at her, his arm tightened its grip, before closing his eyes again, momentarily.

Impatiently, Arya rubbed her foot against his leg, eliciting another grin. "Can I help you?"

How was she supposed to ask? The Septa never covered this part. She'd said that to share a marriage bed was uncomfortable, painful and a duty. She never explained what a wife was supposed to do if it wasn't and she wanted it to happen.

Squeezing her gently, he coaxed, "Come on. I can hear you thinking."

"Um... about last night..."

"Yes..." he answered tentatively.

Arya could feel herself turning red. She had seen coupling in Braavos, but she didn't remember the women looking pleased. Further than the collection of money afterward. She was six and ten. Most women were married by four and ten and already knew these things. But the only knowledge Arya had of coupling or a marriage bed, was from Septa, the whore houses of Braavos and Jeyne Poole, who had once told Sansa that women bled and cried on their wedding night.

She didn't know whether she bled, but she most certainly hadn't cried. What did Jene Poole know anyhow?

When he turned on his side, facing her, waiting for her answer, Arya couldn't help but blurt it out under pressure, "Did we do it right?"

When he smiled and chuckled, Arya desperately wanted to crawl under the covers and die. He must have thought she was a complete idiot.

"I hope so." Seeing her face turn auburn, he cleared his throat in an effort to appear less humored, "I mean, yes, to my knowledge. Why do you ask?"

"I didn't think it would be like that."

"How did you think it would be?"

"Different. Did you like it?" She could hardly choke out the words. Now she sounded like one of those stupid women who stitched and gossiped all day with Margaery Baratheon. Aegon's amused smile wasn't helping matters.

"Yes. I did. Did you?"

Arya bit her lip, thinking for a moment. She could lie and say no. Maybe that was what she was supposed to say. It certainly would wipe the irritating smile off his face. But if she said no, he might not do it again. Never one for convention, she cautiously answered, "Yes."

"Good, you're supposed to."

So Septa was wrong? Figures, that old woman didn't know anything. Now that she knew her suspicions were correct, she considered how to proceed. Her track record thus far, hadn't been very good. The first time she tired, in White Harbor, he said no. Last night he agreed, but it took some convincing. But now that they had done it, wouldn't things be different? Why couldn't he just read her mind?

"Was there something else?"

Her mother also once told her, if you don't ask, you'll never receive. Dropping her lip from between her teeth, she hoped her mother was right.

"Can we do it again?"

Smiling, he leaned in and kissed her, answering without hesitation, "Yes, we most certainly can."

* * *

"Someone will hear."

"So let them." He murmured, his hands sliding under her skirts, "I love it when you wear a dress."

Intending to slap his hand away, she found herself leaning forward, encouraging his movements when he began suckling under her ear, guiding her onto his lap.

Palming her breast through fabric, he responded, "Terrible timing."

Running her hands under the lose end of his own clothing, her nails scrapped along his stomach. "Really? Would you like me to stop?" She teased, as she leaned down and ran her tongue across his lips.

"No, (grunt), don't stop. Just, please…" he went to reach for the laces of his own pants, when she batted his hand away.

"Are you sure? I thought you were busy."

"No. Not busy. Not busy at all." Finally freeing himself, he shifted her so that he could enter her quickly.

Their desire for one another was consuming and almost violent. It had been months since she had come to him that first night. Before where there had been tentativeness or doubt, now was only an unfillable void of want. They would repeatedly find one another, small looks throughout the day, hands always reaching for each other, eagerness to explore and long nights.

(Throat clear) "Mi' Lord, there is a guide from the north, whom is here to speak with you and your aunt."

Hidden behind the adjacent wall, Varys, ever present, always watching, was at least considerate enough to give the pair a small amount of privacy.

Embarrassed, Arya tried to push Aegon away, covering herself. She could hear both her mother's ghost and Sansa clicking their tongues in disapproval. Aegon seemed oblivious, undeterred and enjoying the struggle.

Poking his head out from between her the breasts, he answered, "Yes, Varys. I will be along shortly."

Varys was for all intensive purposes, was the King's hand. By birth, and now title, the throne was Aegon's, but it was undeniable that Danearys had some claim, giving her just as much control as Aegon.

As the hand and constant presence, Varys was growing ever weary of their public displays of affection and any source of distraction for Aegon.

"Mi' Lord, everyone is gathered."

Trying to control his voice as he continued to guide her hips, Aegon croaked, "I'll be right along."

"Yes, Mi' Lord."

When they were finished, he slowly straightened himself.

"Who has come from the north?"

"A man from the White Harbor, there has been…" Aegon paused, deciding whether to continue.

"Yes?"

"Brandon Stark will not join Stannis's cause."

"That's good." She answered in a hopeful tone that made his heart ache with regret for what he'd say next.

"He won't join because Ramsay Bolton is assembling bannermen to march on Winterfell."

Arya stiffened, "You have to stop him. You have to help Bran. He's just a child."

"Brandon Stark is not a child. He is a grown man and a king. The north must defend its own claim. Beyond that, he has not asked for assistance. And even if he did, we couldn't."

"Why? Why wouldn't you help him? He's my brother. Winterfell is my…." But she didn't finish. It wasn't her home, not anymore. And Arya and Bran hadn't spoken for close to 6 months. He'd disowned her.

"I know, Arya, but you must understand. We can't march that far north. Stannis waits in the River Lands. We don't have the men to spare. And…."

"It's not your war." He didn't confirm but she knew she was right. "That's the price of sovereignty. Once you have it, you have to fight, alone, to keep it."

"Does Bran know?"

"He does. Arya, if your brother asked…"

"He will not." For reasons beyond their quarrel, when she left Winterfell with Jon, she knew something had severed in the House of Stark permanently. Had he been wrong, or her? Maybe Bran had known of Jon's true intentions. Or maybe he did not and still said those things.

It was undoubtable that Brandon had heard of her marriage. At first she wondered if this change of events would soften their resolve and past words. But when no word came, she knew it wouldn't. Whether it was from how they left things, or from the shame of knowing Arya to have married Jon and then taken Aegon, she didn't know. Bran was like her father, however, and much like Robb. Honor was paramount and she did not hesitate to question that Bran would think of her as a Bigamist, a fallen woman and possibly a disgrace. And for that, her pride and the way he had treated Jon, she would not reach out to him.

Bending down, he kissed her softly, "I am much late for the council meeting. Don't worry. The northern forces will stay loyal to a Stark." His thumb brushed her cheek, as a reassuring gesture, a few times before he finished, "I will see you this evening."

As the sound of footsteps became faint, she hoped that Aegon was right. And if he wasn't, what could she possibly do? Surely Jon would step in if needed, then again, possibly not. As much as she knew Jon as her own flesh, he was also a mystery. She had never thought that Jon would lie to her, betray her, or use her. But yet, she had been wrong on all three accounts.

Looking to make sure no one was around; she reached down subtly beneath the dress, spreading part of the white liquid over her fingers. Soon it would be her bleeding time and Arya had begun to worry. Composing herself, she pulled down her dress, righted her disheveled hair and set out to find the Maester. She'd ask about the finer points of moon tea: how to use it, how often. As happy as Arya may be with Aegon, she was sure, she wasn't ready for a child.

* * *

(Months later)

Trailing behind a guard, Aegon and Arya walked through the fields of wheat, waist high.

"All of this will feed the King's Landing." Reaching down, he plucked from the ground a golden stalk, continuing, "It's important to have a good harvest. The better the harvest, the better the food rations for the people."

"Don't the people procure their own food?"

"Yes, when they have the means. But when they do not, it is the duty of the crown to provide. Fed people mean happy citizens. Happy citizens, mean peace."

"Seems logical."

"Stannis Baratheon doesn't seem to think so. Two days ago he burned part of the River Lands, when some of the local people would not lend food to support his soldiers."

As they continued to walk, Arya didn't know how to respond. They had tried not to speak of the war. Whether it was because of the delicate, unavoidable situation with her family being involved or because he came to her to find peace, it wasn't really clear. However, either reason was sufficient enough for Arya not to press the matter. Since their conversation, that day about Bran and the north, neither seemed to be able to find the right words. Any move, any suggestion, any action at all on his part, would inevitably be wrong. There was not a second place in the game of thrones, only winners and losers. And despite Arya's efforts to protect her family, they had seemed to go unnoticed, appreciated or recognized.

"And what is your cause, Mi' Lord?"

"Peace." Aegon answered at last. "I wish for nothing more but peace in the seven kingdoms and prosperity for the people." Picking up another stalk, he continued, "Feed the hungry, gain the trust of the people and give them the peace they so desperately deserve."

"The seven kingdoms will never have peace because man wants always, what he cannot have."

"Is that so?" Stopping, he handed her the long yellow grain he had been holding. "And what is it that you seek?"

Arya shrugged, "I don't know. You?"

"Do I have something that I want, that is not mine?"

"Yes." Arya questioned as she stripped the seeds for the head of the grain, letting them float in the wind.

"No. Everything I needed, I already have."

"But you do not want?"

Smirking, he leaned in and pulled at her chin, drawing her to his mouth, "There are some things, that the want of which, can't be cured."

After thoroughly kissing her, he looked up to, signaling to the guards, yards a head, to continue and give them space. Momentarily, Arya forgot what she was asking.

Breathing deep, he questioned, "Don't you love that smell? It's soothing."

"What smell?" Arya wanted to ask, as she touched her lips.

"Come along. I'll show you the other side."

As the evening drew near, they continued alone through the quiet fields, side by side. Somewhere during that time, Arya reached between them for his hand and without breaking stride, he took it. It was subtle, in ways out of character, but it spoke volumes of their ease with one another.

Walking like that for a mile or so, hand in hand, without a word until Arya worked up the courage to tell him the thing she'd been considering all evening.

As they stopped on a hill, he pointed out the edges of the nearest village. She listened patiently, until he finished, before she answered, "I'll have a child."

Not understanding at first, he continued explaining his plans for the future, when he stopped mid- sentence, apparently processing what she'd said. Shaken, he paused before pulling her in, examining her face, "Are you sure?"

Arya shrugged, "The Maester said it's still early. But I've not bled now for two cycles."

Aegon's eyes went wide for a few moments, making Arya sorry she had said anything. "Say something." She wasn't sure what she thought about a child. It felt unimportant, as if it were happening to someone else. She'd tried to keep up with drinking the moon tea but apparently her efforts were useless.

"It's mine…" Still a little shocked, he didn't mean for it to be a question, but that's indeed how it sounded.

"You or that other man's," she answered dryly.

A smile cracked on Aegon's lips, "Don't jest about that." He seemed to be trying to find the right words for another moment, before continuing, "Amazing."

"So you're happy about it?"

"Of course, I told you we'd have a child."

* * *

**Jon**

Ice cold wind whipped around his face, almost freezing his eyes open.

"Why did you come back?"

Norhan stood shivering next to him as they both looked out over the Wall.

"I took an oath."

"But you are a dragon. You aren't a bastard. You don't have to be here."

"This is my home," he answered so quietly that Norhan could barely hear him over the wind.

"This is no home, Mi' Lord. This is a place where those of us without homes, without love, have to go."

Turning to young boy, Norhan could see that a joy had gone from his eyes. Jon had left with the Lady, in bliss- content. He'd come back to them changed.

"Aye and I have neither."

"The Lady of the Skulls, Lady Stark..." Jon turned from him, looking back out at the vast emptiness.

"You loved her, no?" The men had speculated as to whether the former brother and sister had been more than long lost siblings. But for the most part, it was just gossip. It was more an idea to entertain men who would go years between seeing a woman.

Norhan had never seen a man in love before. However, from the songs and stories that he had heard of knights and ladies, he imagined that whatever love was, whatever passed between Jon and Lady Stark, had to be the incarnation of it.

"She married my brother."

"Syrio, er- Aegon Targaryen? Strange…." The young man shuffled back and forth for a few moments before finishing, "I thought she loved you, Mi' Lord, tf you don't mind me speaking freely."

"She was a dear friend." Motioning toward the vessel that took them down the Wall, he finished, "Leave me. I'll be along in some time."

"Yes, Mi' Lord."

* * *

**Arya and Aegon**

They ran to the water, slipping under the cool current. Grabbing her by the waist, he pulled her quickly against him, his face buried in her hair. "You smell wonderful."

He nipped at her ears and neck, murmuring comments of appreciation as his hands, glided over her sides.

"I thought we were going to look at fish."

It wasn't the first time Arya had seen the ocean but it was the first time she'd swam in it. They'd traveled from Kings Landing to Dragonstone, to meet with Danearys. With Stannis's forces growing by the day, war was drawing near and both seemed to understand that the little world they had built was coming to an end. Knowing it may be their last few days together, in blissful isolation, they savored the moments.

At night he'd whispered to her, explaining the corals that surrounded Dragonstone, describing the fish: their size, color and funny names.

Settling her back against his stomach, he answered, "Fish? I don't remember anything being said about fish." His thumb brushed down her naval, his teeth grazing her shoulder.

"No fish? I climbed over all those rocks, stripped naked and swam out here for nothing?"

"Well I wouldn't say nothing …."

Turning her head, she reached behind and gently tugged on his hair, "Lying to me? What was it you said about lying?" She teased.

Sighing, he placed a few quick kisses at the base of her neck before letting go, "As you wish, My Lady."

Suddenly diving down to the corals didn't seem nearly that appealing. Reaching out she pulled him back into her, much the same way he had.

"I thought we were swimming for fish."

Retuning the favor, her tongue idly swirled around the base of his neck, "I changed my mind."

"Sure you don't want to see the reefs?"

As her hand trailed further south, she murmured, "No. I'm fine."

Weightless in the water she hiked her legs over his hips, as he turned, encouragingly rocking into him.

"I wouldn't want to break a promise." At this point neither of them was interested in doing anything but finishing what was started. Biting his lower lip, she briefly slipped her tongue in, playfully massaging his, before she answered, "To hell with promises."

* * *

As they sat naked, huddled together under a horse blanket, Arya squeezed the white sand under her toes.

"Do you think they'll miss us?"

Leaning in, he kissed her temple, answering, "No. Let's stay and watch the sunset."

The darkened sky above the waves made it appear as if the water had been set on fire.

"Sansa wrote…."

Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her slightly closer to him, before answering, "Did she say anything?"

By the tone of his voice, Arya knew what 'anything' meant. He had been worried for weeks that Gendry would follow his uncle's claim: meeting him at the northern boarders.

"We don't speak about that."

Since her marriage, and Sansa's first child, the lines of communication between them had somewhat thawed. As her only relative she was still in contact with, Sansa had become one of the last ties Arya had, that kept her linked to Winterfell, her parents, their childhood.

"She's with child again."

Since that first miscarriage, a month previous, neither had really discussed children. Strange, most women grieved the loss of a child. She felt nothing. The whole thing seemed almost as if it never happened. But regardless of how she felt, Aegon's feelings were clear. He would never say it, but he wanted a child. He wanted her child. And as pathetic as it may have been, whatever had disappeared with the death of Ned Stark, Robb, her mother, the War, surviving those nine years and then the loss of Jon, had been replaced with something else. Arya didn't feel quite as alone anymore.

Thoughtfully, his fingers drew over her shoulders and ribs, as if he were either deciding how to respond or trying to sooth her, "We'll have a child someday, Arya. It wasn't the right time. It will come. Don't worry."

"And if it doesn't?"

Tugging her closer, she crawled into his lap. "I didn't marry you because I wanted a dozen children."

Smiling at his sentiment, she hoped more for his sake than for hers, that it was true. Truth be told, she didn't care if they ever had children. But she'd made an agreement, and Arya was never one to back out of an agreement.

"You have poor judgment if you did."

"My judgment is excellent." Kissing the bridge of her nose, he continued, "I was your husband before I was your friend. But beyond a vow, beyond marriage, you and I will always be friends. I married you, for you. No other reason."

The connection between them had been slow to grow, sometimes still fragile, but at this moment stable. "Now stop looking at me like that. Or else I'm liable to forget all about the sunset and lay you down right here."

Turning her towards the sea, she shifted back against him as he tucked the blanket closer around them.

"Aegon?"

"Hm?" He answered, fitting her under his chin.

She paused for a long moment, deciding what to say. He'd told her only twice, both times when they were in bed. But Septa had always said to never believe a word from a man's mouth when he came to you with need, for they were likely to say anything to get their way. She thought she could be sure of his feelings regardless, but then again, she'd been wrong before and barely crawled away from that lie with healthy mind and body intact.

Then again, she'd never been craven before. And if she felt something, should she not say it? He'd given her friendship, when she was undeserving, honesty, even when she did not seek it and trust. He'd always been forth coming. Should she not be with him?

"I love you," she said quietly. Still nervous to put anything out there that defined feeling and couldn't be taken back.

Declarations were forever. And in her experience forever didn't keep.

* * *

They had been in Dragonstone for four days when their time together ended.

"I have to go back to King's Landing. Someone has set fire to the Keep and its outlying fields." Whatever illusions they had about being impervious to the war and its threats were gone. His face said it all.

"We can leave immediately."

"No. It's not safe. I need you to stay here."

"I don't need to be protected. I'll be fine." Arya had never particularly appreciated being told what to do. Her independence only matched by her stubbornness.

"Danearys is coming as well. A Targaryen must stay in Dragonstone and Jon has declined posting here."

It had been a year since Arya had seen Jon. She'd never thought to ask were he'd gone because she knew Jon as well as she knew herself. He'd gone back to the Wall, leaving Rhaegal behind, wanting to blend in with relative ease.

Whether it was their bubble bursting, the immediate threat or being left, Arya couldn't help but feel as if something else was coming: that something was wrong beyond the burning.

"Aegon, don't go. Send Danearys. Or take me with you. Something doesn't feel right."

"I have to go. Someone has attacked the Keep and burned our fields. The counsel has to meet. We have to decide."

Arya knew what he meant by 'decide'. They had been gathering allies and resources for close to a year, to defend against Stannis's impending attack. Suddenly something that seemed like nothing more than a distant threat was beating down on the gates of sanctuary. Aegon, Danearys and the counsel where meeting to draft plans for the first stages of war.

As for Jon, she didn't have to enquire about his involvement. Disappearing from the Keep a year ago, he had not bothered himself to even write. He'd decline any involvement in this, if possible. He'd throw away whatever right he had, because he detested kingdom politics almost as dearly as he held to his oath at the Wall.

"I'll come back for you before you know it. Just please, promise me you will be careful while I'm away. Don't go anywhere unaccompanied."

"Aegon, you worry like a crone. I've survive by my own devices long before I wed you. I'll be fine."

He seemed unsure of her reassurances. It was as if he was weighing the importance of going versus leaving her. Finally, time constraints and duty won out. Quickly he drew her in, saying goodbye, "I'll send a raven as soon as I can."

Pulling back, he kissed her in a way that left them both wanting, before requesting, "Say it, again."

She didn't have to ask what 'it' was. "I will if you take me with you."

"You know I can't."

"When you come back then, I will." He smiled, "So difficult. Many wives cry when their husbands go."

"You should have married one of them," she added dryly.

Even under the tense circumstances he snickered at her never failing curt humor.

"I love you," was the last thing he said to her before everything changed.


	20. Devotion

**Okay. As promised, a new chapter. Will Jaqen be coming back? Can't answer that. Yes, I know. But that would be a serious spoiler. As for Jon. Well it is called a love triangle, lol. He isn't going anywhere. On to this chapter. Okay well, I'm going to be honest. If you are overly sensitive. Have a hard time with difficult subject matter. Or want fluff. You won't be finding it this chapter. So all have been warned. I'm sure I'm going to upset a few. I apologize in advance. **

When she felt the bedding sink behind her, she smiled, half asleep. He'd written, informing her that he would be back within a few days. Reaching behind, she patted the body next to her, searching for his hand. When she found it, she wrapped her fingers around his, only to find them to be exceedingly warm, rough and hairy. It wasn't Aegon's hand.

Quickly she tried to control her breathing as she reached under the stuffed bedding, for the knife she kept.

Like gravel, the voice whispered to her, "Don't be doing that miss," before the hand clamped down over her mouth. She clawed at sheets, searching for the knife. But it was gone. Now in panic, she struggled against him, in the dark. Kicking, her arms swung frantically as she bit his hand.

Easily over powering her, it took one hard blow to the head, before everything went dark and her body went motionless.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Gendry stood composed next to his uncle and the other soldiers that looked down at the map. "Lord Baratheon, King Brandon Stark will not send men."

"That boy is not a king. He has won nothing."

"His forces are divided Mi' Lord. Ramsay Bolton means to collect men to ride on Winterfell."

"Targaryens send no aide?"

"No Mi' Lord. The king does not have the forces to spare. And he will likely not travel this far north."

"Unless provoked."

"The Vale?" Another questioned.

"Lord Arryn, has not promised men, but has promise unmolested passage through his land. The Tyrells are undecided as well. They have promised no men in support of Aegon and Daenerys, however, they still hold Margaery Baratheon at the Keep."

"We will take the men and march them further south into the River Lands."

"Yes, Mi' Lord. We will send word to House Tulley."

As the men left, Stannis bid Gendry to stay.

"You wish to be somewhere else, nephew?"

"No, uncle." Gendry answered cautiously. He had been stationed along the southern borders of the Northern Lands for a month. "Mayhaps, I may be of more service, however, at Storm's End. They are my bannermen. Should I not lead their march to King's Landing?"

Stannis's face gave nothing away. Gendry couldn't tell whether he was considering his proposal or irritated with his suggestion.

"Your men will have the proper leadership. Your assistance, for the time being, is needed here."

He had come upon request. Gendry had completed every assigned task. But Stannis could sense that his loyalties lay scattered. And for that reason alone, he would not allow him to lead the men to King's Landing, whether he was their Lord or not. His nephew had precarious ties to the present King, through their wives.

"I understand your wife is again with child?"

"Yes, My Lord, three months gone." Gendry need not ask how he knew. He had long suspected Stannis had planted spies in Storm's End.

"And your child, a girl? Is she well?"

"Yes." Gendry could sense that this conversation was leading somewhere dark that had nothing to do with family pleasantries.

"Do you love your wife?"

Gendry stood silent, contemplating how best to answer, before Stannis interrupted, "Melisandre, has seen something, nephew." Rounding the table, he looked for a change in expression but found none.

"She thinks that you will betray me. So I ask you. Will you?"

"No uncle." Gendry responded, in a flat tone.

"I assumed as much. However, I can never be sure anymore of a man's intentions. I've sent men to watch over your wife and child. To protect them. You wouldn't want anything to happen to them."

A panic came over Gendry. His uncle was a man of few friends and no loyalties. He killed his own brother without remorse. He would not hesitate to hurt Sansa or the child if he felt that it was necessary to retain Gendry's loyalty.

Carefully and with the most sincere tone, he could force, he answered, "Thank you, uncle. I appreciate your concern."

"We must protect family, no? Terrible things could happen to a woman and child."

"Yes, Mi' Lord."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I'm going to get her."

The counsel looked from one another and then to Daenerys.

"We will send men, Aegon. You cannot leave. Not now."

Pacing the room, he had little time or patience for negotiations or strategy planning.

"I can leave now and I am. He has her. We all know it."

"Would it not be best to send a raven? Maybe negotiate?" Varys offered.

"No. It would not be best. I'm not going to negotiate for weeks for her release, while they keep her there; doing God knows what to her."

Trying to reason with her nephew, Daenerys could see the counsel's point. Arya's disappearance was too close the recent attack on the Keep. Stannis most likely was trying to draw him out. Knowing he'd leave to find her.

"Aegon, you don't even know for sure he has taken her. You don't know where she may be."

"I know who has taken her!"

"My Lord, this is what he will want. If he has taken Lady Targaryen, he has done it to provoke you."

"It has worked! I am provoked!"

Leveling his voice, Varys continued, "We must wait for forces from Dorne before we do anything. We do not have enough men-"

"To hell with the men! I'll go myself."

"Aegon, you cannot go alone." Daenerys attempted, in a soothing voice.

"The hell I can't. I'm not going to sit here and wait for Dornish forces. That could be weeks. She may not have weeks."

"They will not harm her, My Lord. They would gain nothing for killing Lady Targaryen."

But Aegon was out the door before they could finish.

"Aegon!" Trailing after him, Daenerys ran to match his pace before catching him.

"Aegon. You cannot go. It is too soon. We are ill prepared. We do not even know where she may be."

"I know where she is. Stannis Baratheon has her and he's taken her to the River Lands."

"That maybe. But if he hasn't and you go alone…."

"I'll take men with me."

"Aegon, we cannot spare the men. We must wait for Dornish soldiers."

"Did you love Khal Drogo?"

Confused, Daenerys was taken back for a moment. She hadn't spoken of her late husband in years.

"Yes," she answered softly.

"If someone had taken him. If he was harmed or in pain and you could go to him, would you?"

She knew where he was taking this, but still felt compelled to be honest, "Yes. Without a doubt."

"Then you know why I must go."

XXXXXXXXXXX

(Weeks later)

Her shivering woke her from sleep, as her bones clenched and shuddering against each other. Drawing her arms around her legs, she tried to conserve her body heat but was failing miserably. Dressed in only a shift, at the bottom of a dark, damp hole, she had little chance of finding or preserving warmth.

"Get up!" A hand reached inside the hole, letting light in with it. Still curled in a ball, Arya had eaten little in the past three or four days. Weak, she attempted to fight against the arms that scooped her from her dirt cave, but failed miserably.

Exposure to the light was shocking after hours in darkness. Throwing her arms over her eyes, she went so far as to bury her face against the body of the man that carried her. In a desperate attempt to stave off the blaring headache, from the sudden exposure to light and find some small seconds of warmth for herself.

Carried for minutes, she was dumped onto another dirt floor.

"Lady Targaryen. So nice to see you this morning. Has the night loosened your tongue?"

Opening her eyes, she found her same torturer. Stannis Baratheon sat slightly above ground level in the same chair, looking down at her as if she were some bug to be examined.

Her reply was the same as it had been for days: silence.

"Riddick, we are being unkind to our guest. Please give her some food."

A piece of bread was hurled to the floor before Arya. Looking at it, she made no attempt to pick it up. No matter how hungry or weak she may be.

"If you cooperate, I would be willing to see to more welcoming accommodations for you."

Pointing to the bread, he commanded, "Eat. I have been told that you are refusing food. Cleaver. Won't work. Eat!"

When she still did not pick up the bread, Stannis motioned for a soldier to aide. From behind one man forcibly opened her mouth while another shoved the bread inside.

"If you eat now. I'll give you a blanket," he coaxed, as he stared down at her nipples through her dirty shift. As much as Arya hated the idea of following his instructions, she desperately needed some warmth. She hadn't been this cold, for this long, since the time she spent beyond the Wall. Obliging, she chewed the bread and swallowed.

"Now that's a good girl," he mocked. Pointing to the table beside her, he continued, "On that table there is a map. I want you to show me where your husband and his aunt are gathering forces."

Although Arya had swallowed the bread, she wasn't willing to rise. She wasn't a pet. She wouldn't be trained. And she most certainly would not tell Stannis Baratheon anything, even if she knew something, which she didn't.

"Your insolence is becoming increasingly pathetic. You think yourself smart by not speaking. You are not. You think that by not cooperating you are somehow going to be useful? To whom? Aegon Targaryen?"

Rising from his seat, he slowly walked over to where she sat, "And where is your husband, My Lady? It's been a week and still he does not come. He has not sent so much as a search party, a man or even a raven to bargain for you. You must have meant a great deal to him. For he has quickly forgotten you. Are you stupid enough to hold loyalties to such a man?"

Staring forward, Arya didn't as much as bat and eye to his comments. Grabbing her by her hair, he forced her head back until she was staring straight in his face, "He is not coming for you. He would rather save his men, than save you suffering. Tell me now! Help yourself or I will make that hole a great deal more uncomfortable."

As if she were in a trance, Arya still did not reply or make the slightest movements to convey understanding.

Frustrated, Stannis waved her out, "Take her. Put her back in the hole, wet and let her think."

XXXXXXXX

Jon had ridden for over almost a month, passing though the Neck and along the northern boarders of the River Lands. If he had her, he wouldn't have taken her to the River Lands. And he wouldn't have brought her north.

Even under siege, he would know that Brandon would send troops. He would scour the countryside of any north territory looking for Arya. He would not move south for fear of the King's forces. Stannis Baratheon had Arya and he was not keeping her with his army.

Jon had not slept more than few hours, every night, since he'd received the raven three weeks past. Aegon had sent men into the River Lands prematurely, in a first attempt to find her and suffered heavy casualties. They were waiting for him, knowing he would come. Beaten back, briefly, from the River Lands, they lay torn in strategy and divided. Men had marched from Storm's End, to lay siege on the Keep. Their forces could neither advance nor divide as they sought, with the House of Dorne and their banner men, to protect the Keep from attack and search for Arya in the River Lands simultaneously.

On a hunch, Jon had ridden past the heavily armored, fortified, River Lands into the Vale. Robert Arryn had claimed loyalty to neither side, according to the brief letters Jon had received from Aegon over the past year. However, young and undoubtedly rash, Jon had questioned whether the young Lord would be likely to pledge allegiance to a king that had taken something once promised to him.

It wasn't until he had taken drink at a tavern in Bloody Gale that he heard brief rumors of a group of men, around a hundred, gathered miles outside Iron Oaks. There was a possibility that he was wrong. It was far more likely that they would have taken her to the River Lands, but Jon hoped like hell they hadn't.

As the sky darkened and he approached the small camp, he didn't know what he had planned. If she was indeed there, what could he possibly do? How would he possibly find her amongst a hundred men and safely remove her?

No, he didn't come with a plan. He came because he was the only one that could. Brandon was under attack. Daenerys was pinned down at the Keep, Aegon fighting to find her in the River Lands.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Sneaking into camp, he had check four tents before he came upon a guard. Quickly slitting his throat from behind, he dropped him soundlessly to the ground, moving on until he heard the cry, "He's been killed!"

By the time the camp was alarmed that something was amiss, Jon had grabbed another soldier, digging his knife into his spine, "Tell me where she is."

"She?"

Digging the point further into his soft flesh he forced on, "Don't lie to me! She's here. Tell me where."

"The pit. It's to the south," pointing to a cluster of tents yards away.

Without another thought, he stuck the man through and dropped the body, advancing forward.

"Jon?" Swinging around, perched for a fight, he found Gendry.

"Gendry?" Sansa's husband stood just as in shock to see Jon, as he was to see him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Arya. She's here?"

Guilty, Gendry shifted his eyes downward, "Yes."

"You've kept her here? You knew? You?" His voice was so accusing, that Gendry could no longer pretend to himself that circumstances were beyond his control. Jon's tone said it all. He was a traitor. He'd betrayed Sansa, his friendship with Arya. The love he'd felt for both women.

"How could you?" It was unimaginable. Jon had seen them together that night before the wedding, hand in hand. He had thought for sure that Gendry loved Arya, maybe half as much as he. And because of that he couldn't believe it to be true. He couldn't believe someone to care that much for someone and still be able to let them suffer.

"Jon-"He didn't have time to explain. They'd be found. Their conversation overheard. Jon struck down two more men before he was taken and knocked out. Leaving Gendry guilty for yet another failing to save Arya.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"It seems you need the proper motivation."

She'd been here now, for so long, that she'd lost count of the days. In that time, always the same thing, the same questions, for which she could not or would not answer. By the time they had trotted her out of her pit, a month and a week after she'd been taken, the light of day had started to have an adverse affect on her: making her dizzy and nauseated.

Because of that, she almost didn't believe her eyes, blinking two or three times, waiting for them to come into focus when she saw Gendry standing next to Stannis Baratheon. Gendry? How long had he been here? She half expected him to run over, embrace her whole heartedly and take her from this hell hole. But when he didn't move and made no effort to acknowledge her, she thought better. Things had changed.

Arya didn't know what to think any more. The first week she was there, she was sure she could find a way to escape. But after weeks of freezing conditions and inadequate food, her attempts had become pathetic. She wasn't strong enough to fight against full grown men. When she knew she couldn't escape herself, she had hoped for a short time that she'd be found. But now she didn't.

Maybe Aegon would come for her and maybe not. Did he not know where she was? She hardly knew. But looking around, she knew she wasn't in the River Lands. She'd been taken somewhere else. Somewhere windy and barren.

Did he know, but still did not come? She wouldn't believe word that came from Stannis's mouth to be true. But a very small part of her wondered. If Aegon knew, but would be risking men, ground, or some type of advantage, he currently had: would it stop him? If it came to the throne or her, she knew, that she was not the greater priority.

Motioning to someone behind her, it was seconds until she felt a knife sliding down the back of her shift. She'd been brought for something more than interrogation. Hastily the grimy cotton was ripped off.

Standing naked in front of Stannis and thirty on -looking men, Arya shivered against the frigid wind. Hungry and tired, she ignored the rush of embarrassment that was trying to smother her. Raising her head, as if they were equals, she met Stannis's eyes and held them not blinking.

"Bring the bastard forward."

There was a shuffling of metal: slow and agitated. Through peripheral vision, she could see something being pushed to its knees, ten feet to her right.

"Aren't you two a pair?"

She didn't have to look to know who it was. It had been over a year, but she would know him if she were blind and deaf. Why had he come? She felt a surge of momentary relief, the second she caught his slumped figure from the corner of her eye. Soon, however, her relief was met with grief. He apparently hadn't fared as well. By the sway of his body, she could tell he had been beaten, more than once.

Rising from his seat, Stannis went to Jon, surveying the damage, "I see they managed to spare your face."

Leaving him, he stopped before Arya, reaching out to touch her. Carefully, he brushed dirty strands of hair from her forehead. Tracing her neck, down her chest, fondling her, he leaned in, "Your husband took my home." His cold fingers trailed down her stomach, stopping to pry open her thighs. Cupping her, he finished, "Now, I intend to take his."

Arya attempted to turn from him but couldn't. Grabbing the hair at the nape of her neck, he held her in place, "It's been a long winter. The men are lonely." He paused, briefly, smirking to himself, "Imagine what Aegon Targaryen will think when he finds out half of our party have had his wife… that's of course, if he cares."

"No!" Jon struggled to rise from his bent position. A few men grabbed him, pushing him back to the ground as he fought. Looking to Jon, Stannis warned, "The harder you struggle, the more difficult we'll make it for the girl."

Stopping, mid fight, Jon seemed indecisive how to continue. His instincts called him to something- anything for Arya. But his logic told him to hold deathly still. To think of a solution. In an instant, he shut off his mind, took his pride and shoved it in the darkest corner of his conscience.

What Stannis Baratheon had planned, had little to do with lust. He wanted to crush the Targaryen's sense of invincibility; to rape their foolish notion of being anything more than human. And Jon knew it. Stannis sought shame and humiliation to prove power.

"Take me. I won't fight, you."

"You, instead of the girl?"

"Leave her. She's just a woman. You're not fighting women. You want to kill and humiliate the Targaryens? Then do it. I'm a dragon. She's not. So you rape a woman. Any man can do that. You prove nothing."

Stannis smiled, intrigued by his proposal, "You offer yourself, to spare her?"

Without hesitation, Jon answered, "Yes."

Alarmed at his suggestion, Arya interjected, "No. Don't. I'll be fine, Jon. "

Passively Stannis decided, "Take the girl," which was met with a breakout of chaos.

Jon flew into a crazed rage, all logic gone as he struggled to reach her. Grabbing a sword from the careless soldier by his side, he swung and quickly wounded two that tried to subdue him.

Fighting against those that pulled her back, she could hear him screaming, "Arya, Arya. I'm coming", trying to get to her, as the men swarmed him.

"Jon!" Biting the soldier's hand, Arya clambered out of his grasp long enough to watch the men come at Jon in force, from every direction. Outnumber and injured, he was finally disarmed. Taking him by the hair, he was forced to the ground, their knives at his throat.

Feeling herself being grabbed, Arya quickly caught his eye and attempted to sound calm and reassuring, "Jon, let them take me. I'll be-"but she never finished. On the ground, there was a hideous ripping noise as she was drug backwards by her hair. Clawing at her attacker's hands, kicking at everybody close to her, the last thing she heard before she was taken, was the rattling of chains and the tearing of cloth, "That's right, boy. Fight. Make it that much sweeter."

Her mind went blank as the men descended on both Jon and Arya like a pack of wolves, preying on fresh carcasses.

XXXXXXXXX

"Uncle. This is unnecessary. We prove nothing by doing this." Gendry tried to control his voice from shaking. He had no notion of what Stannis had planned when both Arya and Jon had been brought out into the open.

"I disagree. Neither the girl or the bastard have spoken."

"Doing this will not loosen their tongues. It will only make them less cooperative."

When they stripped Arya in front of the men, Gendry could barely stop himself from running to her. Since she'd come to camp, his requests to see her had been vehemently denied. He'd tried to advocate on her behalf, convince Stannis that she knew nothing. But his words fell on deaf ears.

"They don't speak because they still hope they will be found. To own someone, you strip them of comfort, security, humanity."

"Have we not done that?!" Gendry yelled. His hands were shaking with rage. Quickly, he clenched them to fists at his sides.

"You're upset, nephew?"

"Yes. We cannot do this. This is perverted-"

"Precisely. We break their spirit. Now come."

Leading him to distant tent, he stopped outside the opening. "I require your assistance. Since you are so fond of the girl, you will be the first to have her."

"What?! I refuse. I can't do such a thing."

Grabbing Gendry by the scruff of his shirt, he jerked him forward, "You will do as I say. This attachment you have with the girl will be done. You will choose your side now."

"I won't do it. I won't rape a woman. Let me show you my loyalty some other way."

"You will take that girl or I will make sure the men take your wife and beat your child."

"My wife is pregnant! The child's a baby."

"It makes no difference. You think Aegon Targaryen would hesitate to rape your wife or kill the child? You're a fool. "

"No man is that perverse. There is no honor in this."

Cold and unfeeling, his eyes betrayed no sensitivity or humanity, "You know what they call those who stay honorable in war?"

Gendry didn't answer. "Dead. There's no honor in war, boy. It takes one raven to make your nightmares real."

Stannis was quickly resolving both issues at one time. In less than minutes he'd dissolve whatever chance his nephew had at making an alliance with the Targaryens and in the process cut off whatever hope the girl might harbor of being saved or protected.

Pushing him into the tent, he called out, "Riddick here will be watching. In case you get any ideas about changing your mind."

Stripped naked, she lay curled and unconscious on the table.

"Get it done, man. There are others in line." Gendry looked around the tent to find three other men waiting none too patiently.

"To hell with him." Pushing forward, one of the men tugged at the laces of his britches as he approached Arya.

"No." Grabbing his arm, Riddick stopped him, "Lord Baratheon was clear. He will go first."

Sweat poured from Gendry's forehead. His body lurched forward as he spilled the contents of his dinner on the dirt ground.

"Shit. Wipe your mouth, boy. We don't have all day." From behind he received a strong push, hurling him towards the table. Looking down at her, he could feel his stomach turning again. Her face was bruised on one side from the struggle. Blood trickled down her neck, from hair being ripped from the root.

How could he possibly do this? He was so repulsed that he couldn't imagine performing.

"What's the matter, boy? Your prick, don't work?"

Then Sansa came to mind. There were no doubts in his mind what Stannis's intentions were. He'd sought to sever any possible alliance Gendry could ever hope to broker, if he ever made it back to Storm's End.

Sansa. Sansa. Sansa. He wasn't sure whether his illness was due to the rape itself or the idea of something similar happening to Sansa or his child. It was simple. It was either Arya or his family. As much as he cared for Arya. As much as he once loved her and in some ways, always would, he had taken an oath. He was a father and a husband. He had responsibilities. Without Sansa or the child he had nothing. Could he damn them, because he cared for Arya? No.

His hands shook as he unlaced his britches.

"Can I have a moment?"

"Don't like an audience, do ye?"

"Please." He asked more sternly.

Sighing, Riddick motioned to the other men, "Out. We ain't got all day. Let him finish. Then you can have her."

"Please?" He asked again, when Riddick stood unmoving.

"No. I'm here to make sure ye do it. Now get it over with. The men are getting antsy."

Shifting her body, he laid her as gently as possible on her back. Of all the situations he had imagined himself in with Arya, long ago. This was not one of them. The only hope he had of saving his soul was the slim hope she'd been hit hard enough on the head that she wouldn't wake.

"I'll hold her for ye. In case she wakes." Grabbing her arms, he nodded to Gendry, "You deal with her legs."

Closing his eyes, Gendry could only pray to the Seven that it would be over quick. But found no such luck.

As he entered her, Arya's eyes shot open- her head whipped from side to side. Her eyes, set on Gendry, went wide with disbelief.

In that moment, Gendry never felt so disgusted with himself or more apologetic about being male. Screaming, her legs and limbs thrashed against their hold. Quickly, the soldier clamped a dirty hand over her mouth, "Gods. She's got a set of lungs on her," he snickered, amused. "Hold her, man and make it quick!"

As he started to move, he held her cold stare for seconds, his face grimacing in regret. She knew it was useless, that there was nothing she could do to stop it. In defeat, her body went limp and her head fell back. Before Gendry closed his eyes, the last thing he saw was her staring at the ceiling of tent folds, a few tears spilled over her cheek.

He'd hardly finished, when the other men had moved into the tent.

"Out of the way. You had your turn." Pulling up his britches in shame, he walked past his own vomit and moved out of the tent as men filtered in.

There was no honor in war and no honor in him. There were only those who lost and those who survived. And today, Sansa survived and Arya lost.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Hours later, Arya was carried out of that dark tent, smelling of sweat, blood and semen. She was only vaguely aware that she hadn't been taken back to her small damp hole.

None too soft, she was set on the ground: a blanket thrown over her naked body.

"Arya?"

All she saw were the wooden posts that had been dug into the ground, lined up before her. Penning her in like an animal. In a similar cage across the way, Jon sat crouched in the corner. But she made no move to find him. She made no sound to answer his call.

He winced, as he crawled forward. Pressing his face against the wooden slats, "Arya…." But he couldn't find the words. What was either of them to say to each other after what had happened? Laying himself down so he faced her, he made no attempt to bring her from her quiet trance. Jon only sought to crawl into his own and bury the shame and scars that riddled his body.

After an hour of silence, she finally spoke. Not even sure if he was still awake, or if she was saying it to herself. Her voice was calm as she answered him, "This never happened. Do you understand me?"

She had heard him breathing, low, deep, slow breaths for an hour. If things were different, it would have been soothing, comforting, but they were both past that possibility.

"Yes." He responded at last.

Not another word was spoken between them the entire night, as both lay awake in horrified, shameful, silence.

XXXXXX

Her bare feet sunk into the mud as they escorted, but mostly carried, her through the crowd. Uncontrollably she shook as the wind whipped through the thin night shirt they'd thrown over her. Pushing damp, dirty strands of hair from her eyes, she finally saw where she had been taken.

His hair had matted to the back of his neck with sweat and blood. She could see the tensed muscles lacerated between cut pieces of flesh. His hips bowed forward, as he leaned against the post for support.

With each lash that fell, the a vibration of affliction moved from his back, up his shoulders, releasing in his white knuckled hands that clung desperately to the thick grimy ropes that held him.

"Stop," she said calmly. "Stop, you will kill him." She tried to remain as close to clinical and un-riled as possible. This is what he wanted. They wanted this reaction from her. Stannis wanted her to see this suffering, in hopes that she would fold and divulge some detail that Jon had apparently been unwilling to give.

"He will pay his penance," he responded coldly, "he killed four of my men. The punishment for murder is usually death."

The punishment for death, is death? This notion seemed ridiculous and not well thought out.

"If you kill him, you will gain nothing."

"Only satisfaction…."

As the lashings continued, soldiers jeered and insulted the silent prisoner, throwing clumps of mud and rocks at his body. "Where's your dragon now, Snow?"

"Once a bastard, now a whore."

"Should we bugger you again?"

"Ay, your brother and aunt can't come to your rescue?" They yelled.

Arya heaved, up air, as her stomach was empty. Her pulse so frantic that she thought her heart would burst. She tried to turn away but she couldn't. She wouldn't seek solace while he suffered. He needed someone to be there with him. To hold him in security and share his humiliation, even if it was only in the form of a look that he couldn't see. When a rock caught him on the side of the head, Jon's body slumped further against the post.

"How many lashes will he receive?"

"40 yesterday, 30 today, maybe 30 tomorrow." Stannis replied, without taking his focus off Jon's now crumpled body.

Quickly she spoke, "Let me take them for him."

Somewhat amused, Stannis was still undeterred, "It is his punishment. He must pay for his own crimes."

"He is unconscious, My Lord. If he is not conscious, what is the point of punishment? He will not feel."

Stannis thought on this for a moment before raising his hand, to stop the executioner's whip. "I could wait until he is again awake."

"And re-gather the men? Why? We were once brother and sister. We cared for one another deeply. You have seen, for Jon, a punishment against me, would be much more severe than any punishment he could receive."

She could see the feculent wheels of Stannis's mind turning. Until finally he answered indifferently, "As you wish."

Pushing her forward, he motioned towards a few of the guards, "Remove him. Tie her instead."

Barely able to hold herself up, she stumbled to the ground before she was lifted and dragged through the mud, to the post. The heavy ropes burned as they were tightened against her wrists. Arya's shoulders hunched as a cool blade slipped through the material of the tattered shirt they had thrown over her - cutting it away.

Exposed to the crowd of onlookers, the men had few words to say as they stared at her bruised body- looked at the dried blood smeared on her thighs and legs. Whatever dignity or modesty Arya might have had, was stripped from her the two days before. Her body ached. She could barely walk. The burning and bruising between her legs so severe that she felt as if she had been ripped in two. Steadying herself against the post for support, she waited.

"Stop! I can finish my lashings." She couldn't see, but regaining consciousness, Jon raised his head from the ground, attempting to struggle to his feet.

The punisher stopped, looking to Stannis for indication as to whether to proceed.

"I am fine. Untie her." Jon groaned.

"No! We have made an agreement," Arya called out to Stannis with as much stature as she could collect.

Holding out his hand and signaling for a soldier to restrain Jon, Stannis answered, "The woman has chosen. Hold him."

As the guards grabbed at him, Jon was undeterred. With his back flayed open, he was losing enough blood to soon faint again.

"Begin."

With the quick arch of his arm, Arya could hear the tail of the whip flying through the air before it connected with her back, in hot pain. On first contact, the leather struck her hard enough to break the skin, as the man called out, "One!"

Unable to think, Arya's ears started to ring as the second, third, fourth and five blows landed on her upper and lower back. Holding her breath, she kept her teeth clamped down on her lower lip, preventing her mouth from chattering in shock: from both the force of the whip hitting her back and her already battered body slamming against the pole.

"Stop! Stop! I will take twice my lashes." Jon screamed against the sound of the whip.

Stannis raised his hand in question, "Do you accept, Lady Targaryen?"

Letting out a shaky breath, Arya answered, "No."

Smiling at her stubbornness, Stannis walked toward the exposed woman. Leaning in, his sour breath felt warm and equally insulting on her face when he commanded, "You think yourself brave, but you are not. You will cry out."

She didn't answer, only stood deathly still, staring at her own feet.

"Maybe you should be convinced?" His tone; even more menacing, "Upon eager suggestion, your lashes will be doubled," he reached out, tightening the rope around her wrists.

"No!" Wildly Jon struggled, "She will not survive 60 lashes."

Nodding again to the messenger, Stannis simply responded, "60 lashes or until she cries out."

Before Jon could argue further, he was promptly gauged and bound.

"Should we remove him, Mi' Lord?"

"No. Let him watch."

Faces of even the most hardened of men went white in the crowd, as the executioner continued. Arya's forehead bounced against wood with each blow, her eyes snapping shut, her teeth biting through her lip.

Still, she did not cry out. By the twentieth blow, the blood was running down her legs, like rivers to a pool- that had collected at her feet.

Splinters had formed under her nails as she dug them harder in to the wood.

"Call out." Horrified, a murmur had started in the crowd of on- looking men. A hasty plea, that with each blow became louder with number and volume.

"Call out, Lady! Call out," she heard from every direction. Arya's arms no longer supported her body as the count neared 30. Her legs felt like water, as her ears rang with their cries. At any moment the torture was bound to stop. If not from her screaming in surrender, than from her passing out. Jon's knees had begun to give way at around 25, his senses going dark.

At 23, Arya was beginning to do the same when she felt a hand on her face, brushing her cheek, **"**_**Do not worry, child. I have not forsaken you.**__**I am with you, even now**_**,"** Ned whispered to her, in his calm, reassuring, fatherly way.

Jon had sacrificed for her and paid dearly. She would do the same. He had taken 65 lashes, she could survive hers. Locking her shaking knees, Arya sucked in another hasty breath, collecting all the strength she had left. She would make it to 60 blows or she would die. But either way, she would not cry out. She would not relent.

With the shouts of onlookers' pleas, Arya turned her thoughts away from the crowd and that post. For the last 30 blows she listened to nothing except Ned's voice, and found him in her mind. In that quiet place that he had made for her, Arya lasted till the last snap hit her numb flesh. And then she let her legs give way.

XXXXX

"She will likely die of fever."

It had been one month and two weeks since she Arya had been taken.

"You should have never given her 60 lashes. You cannot bargain with a dead body."

"He would have never bargained for her."

Their voices were so low that Arya thought she was dreaming. She had been in and out of sleep for a week. Never conscious for longer than a few moments.

As her eyes cracked open, she saw nothing. She was back in the pen. With her lips coated in mud, she lifted her head slowly to look around. Where was she? Did it matter? Even delirious with fever, Arya knew she would die. Ned was coming to her frequently now when she slept; walking with her, explaining to her what was to come.

"Arya?" Squinting in the dark, she could make out a figure in front of her. "Can you hear me?"

Letting her eyes relax, she could finally saw Jon's outline. "Arya, are you awake?" He was lying, much the same as she: bound, face down in the mud.

"Yes," she responded hoarsely.

"Thank the gods. What the hell were you thinking?" Before Arya could try to respond, the room started to blacken again, his voice growing faint.

"Arya! Arya! Arya!" Snapping her eyes back open, as if coming out of a dream, she answer, exasperatedly, "Yes, what is it?"

His voice sounded distraught and desperate, "Don't go again. Stay awake. Just for a while. We don't have long."

He shifted his weight, shuffling his body towards her, "You're…." He couldn't continue.

As her eyes came into focus, she could see it on his face. He was scared shitless and she knew it then, for sure, that it wouldn't be long.

"I'm dying." She croaked.

"Don't Arya. Don't you dare." Her eyes were fluttering, as sleep called to her again. "I'll do as I…" she couldn't finish the sentence. Her mouth slacked, as she started to go.

"_It's okay child. Let it take you."_ Ned's words were warmly guiding her passage.

"Arya!" Something rubbed against her. Opening her eyes, he was practically on top of her, "Do not die, Arya. We will find a way out of here. You won't die like this."

The more conscious she became, the more she wished she were dead. Her body radiated with enough pain to send her into shock.

"You'll live a long life. You'll grow old, have babies," he whispered reassuringly.

"What happened?" She was dimly aware that there was some reason she was in pain but couldn't quite remember why.

"You took 60 lashes and then the fever came…"

He looked as much horrified as he did worried. "You should have let them kill me. I'm dead anyhow…. Why would you do something so foolish?"

Flashes of images ran through Arya's mind: _Jon tied to post, his back torn to pieces. Rocks being pelted at his head. Jon's body slumping to the ground. Arya tied to that same post- exposed in front of a hundred men. Pain and the tearing of skin, "Cry out," his sour breath on her face. Ned's words, "I have not forsaken you." Then Winterfell, the Heart Tree, nights in a warm bed at the Wall, and again, Jon slumping to the ground- his back in shreds_.

"When you die, I will die, and there I will be buried." She whispered.

His hand reached out and took hers, cradling her cold fingers between his. Arya didn't know whether it was the familiar heat of his body or the warmth of encroaching death that gave her comfort. Leaning forward, Jon's dry lips met hers, "I'm not dead yet. So don't you die."

By the time he had pulled away, she had slipped, again, back into her feverish comma. Leaving him alone with his demons.

"Damn it. I love you."

XXXXXXXX

**Okay told you it would be a little rough. Thanks you guys for reading and thank you to those that review. The reviews always motivate me to write another chapter. And of course make me smile.**


	21. Promise

**Wow. Thank you so much for all the reviews! Okay, I went through so many drafts of this chapter that it made me dizzy. I kept changing my mind. On another note. I loved to read WAYYYYY more than I like to write. However, there are practically NO Arya/ Aegon, Arya/Jon stories out there! This is shocking and wrong. So, I ask anyone who reads this. Please start writing! Message me if you do. I'll be more than happy to read. Also if you know of any really good Arya/Aegon or Arya/ Jon stories hit me up. I'd love to read them. **

**On another note, someone asked me forever ago if I write to music. Yes, I do. But usually a compellation. In case you are interested I wrote a huge portion of this chapter listening to Promise by Ben Howard. Also there is some genius who made a Jon and Gwen video on YouTube to this song that I discovered. It's amazing. I want to kiss the person who made it. I like to pretend its Arya and Jon but whatever. Which brings up one more point: who do you guys see as these characters? Jon, well they cast him already but what about Arya and Aegon? Game of Thrones hasn't cast an Aegon or adult Arya. I'd love to hear your opinions. Hey P.S. you guys are amazing!**

* * *

Her hair had been tangled and matted, her clothing wrinkled. But her face was stark and clean, her hair burning, eyes cold. She showed no sign of fear. No look of regret. Her face was still, but behind it something was amiss.

When she had been taken, she went without fight, conceding to her own death.

"You are whom they call the Red Priestess?" Entering the tent, he was the first to hold her company for hours. The soldiers thought her an omen of ill luck: proposing they kill her immediately.

"Some have called me as much."

"What is your name woman?"

"Melisandre."

"Where is she?"

The look she had been hiding before shown smugly on her face now. "Which 'she', is it that you speak of, King Targaryen?"

"Do not test me woman. If you cherish your breath, make it useful."

"You will not kill me." She answered with a confidence so direct that it almost sounded like a challenge.

"I will not? You are a companion of Stannis Baratheon. This is war."

"You wish to know of the girl?"

"Yes." Aegon couldn't attempt to hide the anxiety and anticipation in his voice.

"To be truthful, I do not know where young Lyanna may be. She may be dead or she could still breathe."

"Arya." He corrected.

She smirked at his correction. Aegon knew he was being led, like a damn horse by bridal. But he didn't care. He'd let the red haired augur take him straight over a cliff if it meant he could have answers. If only she would tell him of Arya: show him where she was, if she were alive.

"I know of you, young dragon."

"I am King," his tone, annoyed.

"And you seek to keep the throne?" She paused for effect, "I will tell you what you wish to know in exchange for my freedom."

"By your own admission, you cannot tell me the answer that I petition. So why should I allow you to keep your life?"

"What I know, is something you seek more fervently then your wife." Melisandre had taken a sharp turn from amused to direct.

"And how do you know what I wish?"

"I have seen it."

"How could I believe that your visions are true? Or that you would speak with honesty? A woman set to burn, is likely to say anything to keep her life."

"You know what I see is true. I spoke a prophetic word to your brother Jon, at the Wall. And did it not come to fruition?"

Melisandre had told Jon at the Wall of his enemies in the Watch. She had foretold of the attack that almost took his life in great detail. Word of fear had spread, of Stannis Baratheon's seer. Her reputation more than proceeded itself.

Without waiting for his comment, she continued, "I have seen a great many things. However I will let you choose which you will know."

"You are my captive. I will not choose. If I so desired, I could have you tortured until I knew all."

"Yes, you could. However, as you have stated yourself, you would not know what is true and what is fiction. I give you my word, for my life. But only one."

To make a deal with a devil was a precarious process. Should a man hear of his own future? He could not keep her and torture as he so threatened. She made the men nervous with superstition. Even if Aegon didn't believe in her God, he surely was not one to test any God, real or not, while in battle.

Conceding, ever so slightly, he responded, "How would I know which to choose?"

It was now that she had him. This was why she did not shake or beg for her life. The power of prophecy was as great gold in times of war.

"There are two storms which you will meet. The course of one can be changed, the other not. To which do you wish to know of?"

Aegon's fingers tapped thoughtfully on the hilt of his sword. Two storms? Why must everything be a metaphor? Was it best to know of something that could not be circumvented or to be informed of a future with prospects of alteration?

"The course that can deviate," he answered at last.

She hadn't moved until this point, but walking the short distance across the small tent, she touched the flame of the torch that lit the small structure.

"Come, and I will show you."

Wearily, Aegon approached the witch, until he looked into the same yellow flicker as she.

"You wish to win this war and keep your throne. To do so, you will need to take a wife."

Indignantly he responded, "I have a wife."

Pointing back into the flame, she continued, "Yes, but young Lyanna, is not the wife that will win you this war. There is another wife that you will need to take to make an alliance with her house."

In the flame appeared the shadow of a woman. Her body, then face, appeared with perfect clarity as Margaery Baratheon. Then he saw himself, walking through a crowd of people with her, hand in hand. There was a battle field and him. Sword in hand, the Targaryen banner was flying in victory in the wind over thousands of dead bodies.

"I have a brother, Jon. He could easily marry."

"Yes, but he will not. He has taken the black. He stays at the Wall. To force an unwanted marriage on him, will only further distance him from your circle."

How did she know of Jon's reluctance? Aegon was immediately suspicious before realizing that Jon's disinterest in the throne was no secret to friend of foe.

"This alliance will bring you closer to winning the war. However, you must marry. There will be no other way to secure an alliance with her house."

As quickly as the image appeared in the flame it was gone, leaving Aegon both hollow with confusion and hungry with the prospect of victory.

"How do I know whether or not you lie?"

"You don't. You must go on faith."

"You are Stannis Baratheon's witch. Why would you tell me such a thing?"

"I serve the Azor Ahai. If you were him, I would serve you and not Stannis."

"So know not whom you truly serve?"

"I serve Azor Ahai. When he reveals himself, I will be his servant."

* * *

**Stannis and Melisandre**

"Let them live."

Stannis roughly ran his hand over his scraggly facial hair. "No. She will die. The bastard we keep."

"He will marry the woman."

His face changed from resolute to curious. "How do you know?" Melisandre had narrowly escaped death by fire. Momentarily, their forces had lost ground, driven further north by the King. But with the attack on the Keep, Stannis's troops had re-secured the River Lands at heavy casualties to King's men. Now as the odds turned in their favor, with the Targaryens on the run, he was soon to lose another advantage.

"I told him of the marriage."

Liquid splashed over the rim of ever glass on the table as his fist slammed against the oak. "Seven Hells! Why woman?!"

"To save my life. I have had another vision. He was given the choice. He chose to win the battle. But we will win the war, Mi' Lord."

"Enough with the riddles. What is it that you speak of?"

"He has seen that if he weds Lady Baratheon he can win the war. But to wed one, he will lose favor with the other."

"What other? Whom do you speak of?"

"Young Lyanna."

"Your vision is weak. Arya Stark will die before the week is out. She is taken with fever. What is this of another vision?"

"Aegon Targaryen will wed the woman to keep the throne. You will let the lady live along with the Commander."

"No."

"I have not told him the vision in its entirety. For it would not have aided him either way. We will let the girl live so that she may do your bidding. Margaery Baratheon he will wed, young Lyanna he will love. And his love for her will lead him, as his father before, to disaster."

"The girl will not live. She is ill and in sweat. The bastard will die here."

"The Commander must live for Aegon to fall. What you have begun is only a battle. If you wish to win the war, let them both go."

Stannis was reluctant to release the Targaryen. Would he not prove to be much more useful as a captive?

"Take me to the girl."

* * *

**Aegon and Dany**

It had been close to a week since they had been pushed out of the River Lands. With the Keep still under periodic attack, Aegon had been back for hours before he told Daenerys, Melisandre's prophecy.

"Did she tell you when?"

"No."

"You did think Margaery was beautiful."

"It was a passing thought. I had not considered her for marriage."

"Mace Tyrell will not ally with us after he was dismissed as hand. He will join Stannis's troops."

"He will not turn against us while we still hold Margaery at the Keep."

"We cannot hold her forever. Mace has sent a dozen ravens requesting her return since the burnings months ago. We cannot ignore his wishes forever or he will claim we hold her hostage and go to Stannis to get her back."

"I am married. I have a wife."

Daenerys tried to put it as gently as possible, but it had been close to two months and still there was no sign of Arya. They had combed the surrounding areas, offered reward to anyone who could find her, or tell of her whereabouts. Still there was no word. "She may be dead, Aegon. You need to accept that this is a possibility."

He had been considering it for months. He just wasn't ready to acknowledge it. "If we choose to make an alliance, Willias Tyrell is without wife. You could marry…."

"I could not."

"So I can marry in sacrifice but you refuse?"

"I cannot have children. He would not marry without promise of a child. To marry in a lie is a bad omen."

"Margaery Baratheon has been married and widowed three times. That is a horrible omen!"

"So you would not marry her yourself, for fear of death, but pedal her to Jon?"

"Jon is without wife. Mace Tyrell would never agree to marry his daughter, widowed or not, to a man already married. He would accept a marriage to Jon."

"Mace Tyrell would much rather marry his daughter to a king, than a prince, who is a man of The Watch. Jon would not take her as a wife. You know as I, that his alliance with us is strained at best. He wishes to not take a wife. If we force the matter we only drive him further from us."

"If Willas were to agree?"

"He will not. The Tyrells are without an heir and would not marry their sons to a barren woman, Queen or not."

They had been arguing for so long, that Daenery's head had begun to ache. Clutching her temples she continued, "Aegon we need the men. We have lost too many in the River Lands."

"Dorne-"

"Dorne has sent all the men that they can spare. Now is the time for alliances. We could have had the Iron Islands…." The old wound of Jon and Aegon's denial of her earlier suggestion, opening.

"Asha Greyjoy would be no help to us inland!"

Restraining herself from yelling in response, Daenerys calmly answered, "The prophecy did not say that either Jon or I, were to wed. She showed you, Margaery Baratheon. It is you that must marry."

"And so I have! You ask me to betray my wife?"

"Targaryens have taken sister wives before. You would not be the first. It is an old custom, but it will be recognized."

"Arya will never agree."

"You have married once in love, which is more than many could ask. I have awaken the dragons but we cannot keep our place on the throne without allies and children."

So it had fallen on Aegon to have legitimized children, to carry their house's future.

"As Arya will."

"Maybe, if she is alive. Aegon, be reasonable. We are running out of options. Take another wife as your father intended to do and we will win this war as stated by the prophecy."

"I cannot. We must find another way."

* * *

**Margaery and Aegon**

He was in the middle of writing a message, to raven to Jon at the Wall, if he was still there, when he heard a knock at the door.

"Come in."

Expecting Daenerys, he continued his scribbling till he heard a different, lower toned, female voice, "My King, I hope you don't find me to be presumptuous coming here."

Dropping the pen, he looked up to find Margaery Baratheon, perched against the door.

"How can I help you, Lady Baratheon?"

"I don't mean to be direct, My Lord, but my father, he has written and wishes me to return."

"Yes. I am aware." Continuing his note, he waited for her to get to her request.

"I do not wish to go, My Lord."

"Is that so? And why is that?"

"If I could be so bold My Lord, I understand how you are feeling."

"Hm? And how is that?"

"I have lost a spouse also and I know it can be a great burden."

At this, Aegon set down the pen again, "Yes, well. It is difficult. But Arya has not passed."

"Oh, I only assumed. People talk, I thought…. Well, I'm glad to hear it, My King. You must miss her."

"Yes. I do a great deal." In spite of the abruptness of her appearance, the residual anger still lingering from his disagreement with Daenerys, Aegon felt a strange calm come over him. Was the prophecy true? Was he to marry this woman, to win the war? He had meant what he had said to Daenerys a year before. Margaery Baratheon was a beautiful and still quiet young. It was a shame that someone so pretty would be a widow.

"I was only hoping to offer my condolences and if there is anything that I can do…." Her hand brushed over her body in a, none too subtle way, that made Aegon question if she had been sent here by Daenerys. He had not taken a woman to bed since Arya, which had been months previous. How desperately he wished his wife was here, not only for her safety but because he needed to fuck a woman to clear his mind.

"That's very kind of you, Lady Baratheon. I will not send you to your father if you do not wish. It is too dangerous at this time, anyhow, for travel from the Keep."

As she approached, she moved with a kind of grace that frequented so few women. Reaching for his hand, she kissed the back of it responding, "Thank you, My Lord." Before she caught his eye. Turning his wrist slowly, she looked down at the palm of his hand, and traced the line down the center.

"I once had a nurse maid who read palms or claimed that she did."

In a combination of loneliness, stress, the prophecy swirling around the back of his mind, and the need of a woman, he found himself looking at her breasts which were currently a little to full for her gown.

"Yes, well, when I was across the Narrow Sea many claimed to have that same talent."

"Have you ever had your palm read, My Lord?"

He could feel that old familiar feeling of warmth spread over him, as her voice and body started stimulating various parts of his body.

"No."

"_You are married. You have a wife. She is alive." _He attempted to remind himself as she continued tracing lines on his palm.

"Well if you had, you would have been told you have a long life line. This line," she curved her fingers around the side of his hand, massaging the tissue, "is your love life. It branches a few times."

"What does that mean?" His voice had become heavy with undeniable arousal.

"You are a great lover and will please many women, My King."

When she looked up at him, her brown eyes were drawing him in like a bug to a flame. He'd tried to repeat the Arya mantra in his mind, but thoughts of the prophecy kept drowning it out.

_Melisandre's Voice: "She will win you the war."_

_Daenery's Voice: "She may not even be alive."_

When Margaery reached up on her toes and kissed him, Aegon was as helpless and foolish as the bug that rushes straight into the flame, searching for light. He took her to his bed that evening. And although he loved his wife, he was spared of her memory, for a short period, while the Baratheon beauty wrapped herself around him; giving him pleasure he'd been desperate for, for months.

* * *

**Jon and Arya**

They had left them alone, without food, horse or even proper clothing for Arya. The soldiers had simply come in, unshackled him, cut the ropes that bound her feet and left the entrance to their small pen, open.

Nervous, Jon feared reacting. Like an animal that had been beaten, one too many times, he was suspicious of any act of mercy. So he waited and Arya slept, as she had been for the past few weeks. Her back, bound with rags, was smeared with foul smelling paste that the Red Witch had lathered on, faithfully, for the past week.

When the sound of horses and movement became faint he finally understood that that Stannis was serious in his abandonment. But why would they do such a thing? Why keep them for so long, beat and torture them both and then leave?

Conditioned as Jon may be, he wasn't stupid. Rising from his place in the mud, sure that they were gone. He stretched his arms in a sigh of relief. For a month he'd been shackled. His shoulders always hunched, were knotted from lack of movement.

How would he transport Arya? Healing, she was too weak to stay conscious, much less travel. Bending, he lifted her from the ground and winced as he felt her frail bones clench together under his grasp.

They may not make it far. On foot, in would take him days to reach the next village, carrying Arya, even longer. Pressing her to his shoulder, like a child at a mother's breast, he swaddled her in the blanket they'd left her in, and took his first steps forward.

It took him a week to reach Iron Oaks. In that time, Arya woke twice, both times in a haze of confusion. On the second day of their journey, he'd stopped after dark, unable to continue. Building a small fire, he'd checked her bandages and washed the paste from her back. Angry red welts were all that was left of the beating she'd taken weeks earlier. Tracing each one with his finger, he wondered if his own back looked the same.

When she began to shiver, he pulled down the night shirt; they left her in, and gathered her next to him. Drawing the blanket over their shoulders, he'd started to drift to sleep.

"I think Bran knows about us."

Surprised after days of silence, he wasn't sure if it was really Arya speaking or the insanity of loneliness, conjuring up memories of her voice.

The words were hoarse, "Ned told me, Bran has known for years. He dreamt of us together when he was still a small boy. He didn't know what it meant."

Holding her tighter, his heart was pounding with excitement at the prospect of her staying awake, but feared it would be short lived as it had been so often in the past.

Against her hair, he answered, "Is that so?"

"Do you think he knows we plan to marry?"

She had come back to him, but not in the present. "Arya..."

Her voice dropped so low that he strained to make it out now, "I love you, Jon. I always..." before it trailed off all together.

"Arya?" She didn't answer. She was lost, again, to the world.

On the fourth day of their journey, Jon heard the pattering of paws behind him, the panting of an animal's breath. Without breaking pace, Ghost saddled up next to him.

"There you are. I wondered."

The white wolf looked up at Jon with what could have almost been interpreted as an apologetic glance.

"It's all right, boy. I knew you'd come."

The last day before they reached Iron Oaks, Arya awoke for the last time.

"Are we there yet?"

Her tongue darted out of her mouth, attempting to wet her cracked lips. Pressed against his neck, he felt the warm damp brush, signaling that it was her and not his imagination.

"Not long."

Her head lulled to the side and caught a glimpse of Ghost, "Where's Nymeria?"

"I don't know."

"She's in Winterfell. She's be waiting. I'll ask Bran when we get there."

Before he could correct her, she looked up at him, attempting a weak smile, "You've changed. So unhappy."

His adam's apple bobbed. She looked like a lost kitten.

"Hm?" Her head fell back against his neck, "Don't be upset. I'll make you happ..." She faded out before he could respond.

Jon could hear them, before he saw his brother. The tell tale gush of wind signaled their landing.

Pulling Arya closer to his chest, he knew that these might be their last few moments together. Even if she wasn't conscious, he was going to make them count.

Bending, he kissed her softly, "You would have made me happy. You were right." The sound of foot steps was growing louder by the second, "Bran was right. Even when we were children, I loved you."

When the door burst open, Jon was greeted with a look of agony so intense that he almost thought Aegon had overheard him. As he rushed into the room, Jon instinctively grasped the limp bundle tighter, knowing that his time was up.

"Arya," Hastily he reached out for her. "Is she alright?"

"She's asleep. She has been for days."

When he felt his arms move under her, Jon finally relented, releasing her to her husband.

"Arya, I'm sorry. I should have found you sooner. I'm sorry that I left you. I should have never left you." He apologized into her mass of greasy, unkempt hair, as if she would respond.

Feeling awkward being part of an obviously intimate moment, Jon was almost out the door, before Aegon called to him, "Jon, brother."

Turning, he looked at what he would have guessed to be the most relieved husband in the Six kingdoms. "Are you alright?"

Jon shrugged, "I'm fine."

"I owe you my life." And for the first time, Aegon said it, "I love you, Jon. Thank you. There are not words. Just- thank you."

His praise, brought with it feelings of abhorrence. That Jon would covet his brother's wife, when Aegon loved him, as much as he did her.

Nodding, Jon left Arya again, for the second time.

* * *

**Arya and Aegon**

When Arya opened her eyes all she saw was blinding light. Her head throbbed, as she tried to move her arms to cover her face. They had taken her from the hole again! Where was Jon? Was he okay? "Jon. Jon." Her voice was so hoarse, at first that it came out as a whisper.

With his feet propped up on the bed, Aegon was fast asleep in the chair, when she grew louder, "Jon! Jon where are you?"

Waking, Aegon smoothed back the mass of dirty hair that still covered her face. "Send for hot water." He ordered the hand maiden who stood alert by the bed.

Arya trashed against his touch. Her stringy arm catching him in the face, her dirty nails scratching at any skin she could make contact with. "Get away from me! Don't touch me!"

Restraining her, he leaned over her swaying head, "Stop. Arya, it's me. It's Aegon. You're fine."

She wouldn't listen, "Where is Jon? Jon, can you hear me?"

"Arya!" As her eyes slowly came into focus, she stopped struggling when her husband came into view.

"Aegon? Where am I?"

"Dragonstone."

When the maid entered with Daenerys, Arya tried to sit up, "How long have I been here? Where's Jon?"

In the corner, Daenerys answered, "He's here. He's fine. You've been a here a few days."

Daenerys had only just arrived from the Red Keep. She'd been leery to leave under the current circumstances but couldn't resist when she heard Jon was found with Arya. When she saw her nephew's wife for the first time, hours earlier, she was sure she was near dead. The bedding had sunk around the girl that reeked of urine and filth. Aegon looked beside himself. And for his sake, she hoped the woman lived.

"Bring the water." Aegon motioned to the woman, "I'll wash her."

When he drew the night shirt up her legs, Arya's hand shot down, stopping him. "No! Don't!"

"Arya, dear, I must." When he smiled at her, Arya thought her heart stopped. She was alive. She wasn't in the hole or the pen. Jon was safe.

He leaned in, as to not embarrass her in front of Daenerys, "You smell sweetling. We didn't want to move you when you were sleeping. Let me wash you."

When his hand attempted again, she felt an old familiar feeling of terror. Arya's instincts from months in captivity, treated like a dog, and handled like a whore, kicked in. "No! Please. I can wash myself."

As she tried to sit up again, she shook so violently that it was obvious that she had neither the strength nor possibly the full mental faculties to do the job.

"You are too weak. Let me help you." When he attempted to rub her shoulder, she could see that he meant to do it in love but she couldn't bear the thought. His touch was making her sick. Her back ached in pain. Then she remembered_: the post, the whip, their screams, "Cry out! Cry Out!"_

Not only was the thought of anyone touching her making her skin crawl, but he'd see if washed her. He'd ask and she couldn't do it. She didn't want to talk about it. She couldn't stand the questions. Arya survived. She didn't want to go back.

When he tried again, she screamed, "No!" and looked wildly about the room at the three faces that looked at her as if she were some trapped animal.

"Let the girl wash me." She answered at last.

"I can do it." He urged, gently.

Her breathing was labored. She felt as if she had been running for days, "Please leave me. Let the girl wash me."

"Arya…"

"Please," her answer stern and unwelcoming as she closed her eyes.

Defeated and confused, Aegon set down the rag. She didn't have to see his face to know the look that he was giving her. It was the same look he had given her the day she yelled at him in the lake and told him he was a fool and would never have her.

"I'll leave you."

She didn't open her eyes to watch him go because she feared she'd change her mind. He'd stay and then she wouldn't be able to escape the past.

He did not come to her room again after that.

* * *

**Dany and Jon**

Sitting down, next to the fire, his eyes were only closed for minutes before he heard her enter the room.

"She's awake."

Daenerys had a look of apprehension that he knew had nothing to do with Arya's state of consciousness.

"She asked for you."

"Is Aegon there?"

"Yes."

"Then she does not need me."

Not wanting to be part of this discussion, her company, or this place, any longer, he rudely ignored her obvious pretense for further conversation, turning his focus back to the fire.

"Did he ask you to go to Kings Landing?"

_Aegon's voice: "You have responsibilities here."_

When he didn't disclose, she approached the back of the chair, hesitating briefly before placing her hands on his shoulders.

"Then you will not."

Daenerys was burdened with nervousness. She'd been waiting hours to get him alone. Had Aegon sent her?

"I leave soon for the Keep, Aegon will stay, for a time, until Arya is well. You could remain...?"

_"I would not stay in this Abbadon, if compelled by every God in the Six, the Northern kingdom and beyond the Narrow Sea." _He promised himself in silence.

When fingers brushed the ends of his hair, he knew that Aegon had not sent her. She'd come for other reasons. The same reason she continued to find him.

"W-Were you hurt?"

Daenerys was not short of admires or men willing to come to her bed. The aesthetic twin to his brother, she drew men to her in the same way Aegon brought consistent female attention.

He cringed when she touched the exposed skin on his neck. Is wasn't that he found her to be unattractive. On the contrary, he recognized the opposite. Daenerys was stunning and she wasn't cruel, small minded or weak. She was none of the things that would make a woman undesirable, other than the fact that she was his aunt.

Sighing with disgruntlement, she moved to face him. "I was married once. We did not speak the same tongue and even he said more words to me, than you."

Did Jon mean to be cruel? No. He just wasn't sure how to respond to her advances. Their inner circle was fragile as it was. One more complication was likely to snap the attenuated strings that held it together.

Crouched before him, Daenerys wore some Bravvosi gown, made of papery fabric, designed more for relief from the Bravvos heat, than modesty.

It was meant to be sarcastic, "Am I really that terrible?" but came out more as seeking approval.

She peered up at him from between his knees. Daenerys was looking for him to give her something- anything. But he had nothing left. Everything Jon had to cede, was wrapped up in the half dead, fevered woman, that would haunt him for life.

Finally, he answered in an honest, unemotional, confession, "No, but you do not want me."

Her hands shook, but her voice was sure, "I do."

The movement of fingers up his thigh filled him with an old familiar feeling of lust, mixed with a chilled feeling of remembered perversion. He could hear their words, raw and hot on his ear_, "That's right. Fight, boy."_

"Stop." Jon grabbed her wrist.

"Do you not want me?"

He tried to see Daenerys. He tried to think straight, but his thoughts were a jumble of ugly memories and Arya's face:

_"I think Bran knows about us."_

_"He drempt of us together when he was still a small boy."_

_"You love me as much as I, you."_

_"Where you go, I will go." _

_"You've changed."_

Jon hadn't changed. The name, the title, it all meant nothing. It had all been for nothing. Everything, from that moment he'd knew he was a Targaryen, finding Arya, his leaving, had left him in the same place he was before: alone.

_"If you love my sister."_

If he hadn't listened to Bran. If he had tempted fate. They could have been happy.

_Aegon's voice, "You have responsibilities here."_

_"Jon, brother."_

And so they thought that he would stay and fight with them. For what? They could have all- their empire of dirt. He wanted none of it. Jon would gladly give it all up, go back to being a bastard, if it meant that he could forget and not feel empty.

_Arya's face- her face again and again. Her body stripped and tied. _

_"When you die, I will die. And there I will be buried."_

But he had lived. She should have left him there, on that post, to bleed out. It would have been more benevolent than what he was left to now.

Lowering himself to her level, he answered, "I will let you down, as sure as the air you breathe. I will leave you with nothing but hurt."

"You do not scare me."

Rising from the ground she carefully climbed into his lap, "You are not this terrible person you believe yourself to be."

She kissed him, with sincerity that he had not found since Arya. "I could love you, if you only let me try." She whispered in his ear.

Pressed against him, Jon felt desire as much as repulsion, "You want something that I cannot give, Daenerys."

"Then I will not ask it of you." Unlacing his britches, she disrobed as she walked to the bed, "I only ask for this."

For the loneliness that had consumed him, her unrelenting efforts and his need to be something, to anyone, Jon let her.

* * *

**Aegon and Arya**

(Days later)

She couldn't bring herself to do it before. Arya couldn't stand to look him in the eye after what had happen. She wanted to pretend that none of it was real. But sooner or later she'd have to face him.

The fever had only broken the days before, still leaving her weak. But if she didn't do it now, she'd lose her nerve. Trying to stand as erect as possible, she started, "You once told me that beauty did not matter." She bit her lip, in rushed of embarrassment. Brushing the shift from her shoulders, it slithered to the ground.

"I ask you now, did you mean it when you said so?" Her knobby knees rattled together as she attempted to stop herself from shaking with chill.

Surprised, Aegon took in the emaciated view, that looked like the corpse of the woman he married and shared a bed with, deciding how best to answer. But before he could form the words, she turned, brushing her hair over her shoulder, exposing the heavy grotesque scars that marred her back.

The words were spilling out of her mouth, "You wanted to know. Now you do."

He had expected bruises, poor treatment, possibly lewd words. The marks covering her back, were enough to make even the most harden of individuals weep in sympathy. Aegon's skin went salty, with a cold sweat.

What the fuck had happened to his wife!?

"Arya..."

Facing him, hands clenched into fists at her side, "Did you mean what you said? Does it not matter to you now?"

"Arya, your skin..."

She swayed a little, light headed, but caught herself, "Did you mean it?"

Still in shock, from both the scars and the rest of her malnourished body, the words weren't coming together in coherent sentences in his mind.

Reaching, down she fumbled with the shift, pulling it over breasts, "That's what I thought," as she motioned to leave.

"Wait!" Rising from the bed, he found her at the door, placing a hand on her hip, swallowing the bile rising in his throat, as he thumbed the bone through the pale, sickly looking skin.

"I meant it. None of this matters."

Taking him at his word, she let the material fall. "Prove it. Take me back into your bed."

"I cannot. Arya, be reasonable. You are still weak. I would hurt you."

"I will be fine. You need not lie to me, because you find me to be repulsive."

Arya wasn't vain enough to care about the scars but she wasn't sure he'd feel the same. She wasn't sure she could ever feel normal again.

Aegon was disgusted, not with her, but with what had happened. He was afraid of hurting her. Arya acted like a caged animal. He didn't know whether the scars on her back, told part of the story or all, but whatever it was, he didn't want to cause further damage.

"I don't find you repulsive. You're my wife."

She needed something from him. He'd left her here, to almost die. He'd taken Margaery Baratheon to bed, telling himself he was justified. How could he possibly deny her this?

"I don't know if I- if you- but I can I try."

Cautiously he led her back to the bed, deciding how to continue. "Lay down," he requested. Pulling his tunic over his head, he watched her sink down into the heavy bedding.

"Please, don't let me hurt her," he prayed to any of the gods that were willing to listen. Crawling into bed, next to her, his hands hovered above her for moments, before he gently touched her shoulders, neck and chest.

"Relax." She tensed, holding her breath.

"Sit up, please." Sliding behind her, he pushed her back forward, till she lay over herself.

Trying again, he brushed her hair from her back, exposing the scars.

"Don't."

Ignoring her requests and attempts to cover herself again, he held her hand back, bending to the puckered pink flesh.

Examining the ugly wounds for seconds, he traced each mark with his fingers. "I meant what I said before. You could never be ugly. Not to me."

Without apology, her back clenched. She was touched with the intimate gesture and disgusting with memories all at once.

"I missed you, so much I thought I'd die. Don't ever leave again."

"Why didn't you come?"

In the week since she'd been back, Arya had never asked the one thing he'd feared. The guilt he'd been swallowing for months. Why didn't he find her sooner? How could he have let, whatever caused those scars, happen to her? How could he have taken Margaery Baratheon? Was the prophecy true?

"I searched. I burned half the River Lands and still I did not find you. But Jon did." He hadn't meant this as anything but profession of love and devotion. However, with the mention of Jon, Arya felt another wave of grief. Jon had come for her. He had found her, followed anywhere- into any hell and suffered for it.

Placing her hands, on his shoulders, she lifted herself slightly, wanting to move forward as quickly as possible.

"Arya," his hands stilled her hips. "You are not strong enough. It would be wrong."

"I'm stronger than you think," untying, the laces of his britches, she lay back against the white sheets, covering her back. When he reached out to brush away the hair that covered her eyes, she caught his wrist. Bringing it to her mouth, she kissed him in much the same way she had the first time he took her to bed, creating such a vivid moment of nostalgia between them, that he could no longer decline.

In surrender, quickly he finished undressing. Aegon would want Arya if she were healthy, sick, old, young, dead or alive. He had lied to her, only once before. He did want to own her, have her, take her, keep her as only his. It was need. The kind of which, was so strong that he'd never experienced it before and could not imagine ever doing so again.

When she pulled him down against her hard, he had to brace himself. "Slow, love. There's no rush."

But there was. If he didn't start now, she didn't know if she'd be able to try ever again.

* * *

**Arya and Jon**

The rocks cut into her feet as she clumsily climbed over their rough edges. On all fours, her shaky body pushed forward until she could make him out. Alone, he sat barefoot, letting the water rush over his ankles.

Coming to the edge, Arya tried to straighten herself, controlling her movements. She'd left this place with long lean muscle, and come back a frame of bones covered in translucent, scarred skin. She looked like the dead, rising from the debris of rocks, coming to claim another soul.

"You shouldn't be here," he called out, without turning. There was no need. Jon would know the strike of her heels in a crowd of thousands.

Undeterred by his lack of welcome, she struggled forward. Step by step, her feet sinking a little too deep in the sand. When arms swayed for equilibrium, she watched him tense, listening to her fight. But he didn't come to her aide, because he knew her to be too proud to accept help. So she continued her slow crawl towards him, without further protest.

There, Arya sunk by his side. The clothes she wore, looked stitched for a woman twice her size. The soles of her feet were cut and bleeding, her breathing haggard from exertion.

Now that she had made her labored journey over the rocks, what was she to say? Once when words passed between them, like thoughts of the same mind, they stuck in mouths: weighed under a dozen apologies, hundreds of bitter accusations.

They could have continued like that for hours, as they did that night alone in their own dark cages, when she sold him in silence: "_This never happened. Do you understand me?" _and left him cruelly in the hell that she'd brought him to, as she slipped into fevered oblivion.

Arya fumbled with the few hooks she was able to fasten before she began climb to the beach. Unclasped, she rose awkwardly in the sand, pushing the material down her arms, letting it pool at her feet before she moved it aside.

Unmoving, Jon look straight ahead, not acknowledging her nakedness, until compelled. Her small hands brushed him, as her fingers grasped the hem of his tunic, pulling it up, over his head. Without objection, he let it be removed. When she took her seat, staring out as she was before, he continued the efforts. Stripping from his britches, he returned bare, next to her in the sand.

From behind, both bodies were thin and pale. Their dark hair laminated against the thick silver/ pink scars that thatched their shoulders and back: like the male and female mirror image of one person.

Finally, taking his hand, she compelled him to rise with her in the noon sun. While she led him in a sure, steady, pace, to the pounding surf. As they waded, he watched her flesh tighten with goose pimples, her nipples harden.

When the water was to their chests, she moved close enough that he could feel the heat coming from her body.

"Do you believe in the Gods, Jon?"

Even half dead, she was still the little girl that use to crawl into his bed in Winterfell. The woman that shared his secrets and the only person who risked death, to spare him even a moment's pain.

"Yes," he answered softly. Ashamed that with the same breath that he admitted belief in a higher power, he insulted those same Gods with unholy, unlawful thoughts, about his brother's wife.

"The new or old?"

Jon gulped down: fear, shame, pain, comfort and love.

"Northern, the old gods."

"Why did you come?"

He didn't answer.

"I was meant to die. You should have let it happen." Her eyes were cold, her voice flat.

"I couldn't." Not betraying any emotion, he could feel a knot forming in his throat and stomach. They had said they would never speak of it. But alone, in silence like this, neither could deny the things that hung heavy between them: the smell of death, blood, seed and regret.

"I saw Ned, father." The sound of 'father' went through Jon like a hot knife. Father, it was a simple enough word, one that reminded him of being a child in Winterfell, when they were young and together, when Robb was alive, before the war. Winters in the Godswood and a little sister he always knew he loved a little too much.

"When I died, he told me that promises hold no limit of time. Once a commitment is sworn, it is done so beyond life."

Before Jon and Arya had ever stepped under the Heart Tree they were tethered, from a connection made in childhood, possibly before. That commitment made forever ago, between them, was beyond marriage, beyond relation. When a man and woman wed, there was to be a pass of trust, an exchange of innocence that was taken and given in a marriage bed.

So long ago in Winterfell, when he had a father, they could have never had that. They were brother and sister. Afterwards, after the Wall, after he was no long a bastard, they could have. But never did. Instead, what had been laid down between them, in those dark musty moments, when both were raped and beaten half to death, was the giving of an entirely different kind of innocence: one without pleasure or comfort. The price of it more expensive then love, trust, or understanding: humanity. The return: nothing.

"Jon," She searched for the thing that needed to be said between them, for either to find resolve.

"Into the dark..." He answered at last. The promise he'd made before they left the Wall. Before he knew that cost of honoring it.

It was understood. Whatever needed to be said between them: words of apology and expression of grief were answered with that. His only response forever closed the matter between them, without another word.

"Death came for me."

Afraid she would remember the things she had told him, he answered, "People in fever see things that are not true."

She cut through the water, like a ghost sent from the Drowned God, floating towards him. Her hands cupped the back of his head drawing him down to her. So close, that Jon couldn't tell if the breath he was breathing was hers or his own.

"He asked me to come with him- to follow him into the Other World. I've seen it, Jon," she paused for breath, the cold water lapping around them. "There's no pain, no loss. The afterworld holds no memory, no regret."

He could feel her lips brushing against his, as her whispers continued: the words warm with knowledge, "I asked him to keep me there forever but he said he could not." Arya's tongue parted through her lips, touching his, accidentally, on purpose. "Ned found me at the whiping post- came to take me with him. And he did for a while. But then he brought me back. Do you know why, Jon?"

"No," he wasn't sure if he had actually said the words or thought them.

She took his hand again in hers, lacing their fingers together. "Because he said I could not leave you. So I have come back and I will not go there again, until I take you with me."

Grey eyes searched his, like the last two creatures of an extinct species, communicating in a dead language. When Aegon's face flashed through his mind, Jon pushed it out, along with the icy feeling of betrayal that accompanied it.

"If we do not walk this earth together, on another we will."

His hands found the thin bones of her hips, tracing over the ridges. Fingers molded into what was left of the muscle of her bottom and lifted her from the sea floor. On instinct her knees bent, allowing him to cradle her to him.

The same breath passed between them as he entered her. Embracing her in a hug, both wrapped themselves tightly around the other as they rocked in slow motion. Mouth close to mouth, they did not kiss, for fear if they did, the sin would be real. She was his brother's wife. Many would still call her, his sister, true or not.

Guilt, sin, right, wrong, it didn't matter. Jon held on to her like she would disappear and let her lead him into treason as he did her, into adultery. Arya's nails pinched into the scars of his back as her breathing came hard and quick, like his own, a whimper leaving her shortly after. Before either had time to consider the consequences of what they were doing, or realize that this was real, it was over.

Pressed against each other in the water, still eye to eye, they looked as if it were a simple embrace. From the shore's edge, Daenerys wasn't quite sure what they were doing. She guessed sharing a consolatory moment.

"Jon!" She yelled from the shore, waving to them both.

Startled, both tensed, with the sound of Daenery's voice. Had she seen them? Parting, both turned to see her sitting on the beach, waiting for them. And it was then, that their moment was over. From the look on Jon's face, Arya knew for sure, that things had changed. She was married and he was gone.

"She's beautiful."

Their small family circle was darkening by the moment- muddled with secret relationships, crossed boundaries. He felt perverse when taking Danearys to bed. She was his aunt. She was a stranger. But mostly she was not Arya. However, she had come to him when he when he could not deny anyone. Jon needed something to fix what had happened. He wanted anything besides loneliness. Plainly and without apology, he needed to fuck a woman. To get some counterbalance to the month he'd spent in hell. And he couldn't go to Arya.

The guilt was back, in the face of a woman clearly waiting for her lover on the shore.

"How long...?"

"Does it matter?" He answered sharply.

"No."Although she knew she had no right to be angry, Arya was.

Both were still almost unsure if what had passed between them had actually been. What had they done?

"I love Aegon." His name was as close to a smack across the face as Jon had ever received.

"But if I were to have died, I would have gone in peace seeing your face one last time."

What did it mean? Were they just looking for comfort?

Motioning to Daenerys, Arya mocked, "Was it worth it?"

"Let it be done, Arya!"

This was the time when either could have said something to right the situation. He could have asked her to run with him. She could have never told him she loved Aegon and he wouldn't have seen it in her face that it was said not out of spite, but in truth. It left any hope for running together impossible.

He could see her jaw tense for a moment and could sense her frustration as surely as he knew his own. Finally she answered, her voice menacing in its confidence, "You may have not wanted me. But you'll never forget me. I'll follow you down to hell, till the sound of my voice still haunts you," chaining him in misery, with the decision he made a year earlier.

"Go to your husband and leave me in peace. My life is no concern of yours." He barked bitterly, as the wall that had never been between them before, went up with a resounding 'THUD'.

* * *

_12 years previous, in Winterfell_

**_"Father, I had a dream."_**

**_Looking down at his youngest son, Ned smiled and patted his ruddy brown hair._**

**_"And what happen, Bran?"_**

**_"Jon and Arya were playing."_**

**_"Were you playing with them too?"_**

**_A strange look came over the boy's face. "There were old. They were playing a game I've never played before."_**

**_"What did the game look like?" Of all his sons Bran was by far the most imaginative. Daily, they would sit after the morning meal and the little boy, bright for his age, would tell him of the strange things he'd seen in his dreams._**

**_"He said he loved her and she said so too."_**

**_"Brothers and sisters are supposed to love one another, especially when they are older."_**

**_"I don't love Arya."_**

**_Lifting the boy onto his knee he answered, "That's because she pulls your hair and calls you a Baby. But someday she won't."_**

**_"He put his mouth on hers, like you do mother's. Then he let her take his clothes off."_**

**_Ned's face contorted with concern. Bran was still a child, how did he know of these things? He'd been spending too much time around Robb, Theon and Jon. He must have heard them talking, maybe even seen them kiss a girl from the village. But he guessed not. They were still too young for that. _**

**_"They climbed into bed. Arya made faces. I asked if I could play too but they didn't listen."_**

**_Bran's dreams had never before been so disturbing. On compulsion, Ned asked, "Why didn't they listen?"_**

**_"People can't hear me in my dreams."_**

**_"Bran have you seen this before?"_**

**_The little boy looked up at his father, confused, "No. What is it?"_**

**_Clearing his throat, Ned answered, "Nothing important. Don't tell your mother. It was just a dream."_**

**_When the little boy scampered off, Ned made his way towards the yards were the boys were playing. He was going to make sure they stopped talking around Bran and stopped giving him wild ideas. Before Catelyn overheard and went crazy. She'd have Jon hung at the gates, Ned's son or not, and Arya set to the Sisters, thinking it to be true._**

* * *

**There you have it. Okay so I know there are going to be some pissed off parishioners. It's okay. I'll take the flames. I'm just not the kind of person who writes male or female characters who are all good or all bad. If they don't do naughty things they can't be interesting and make up for them later. Anyhow thank you SOOOOOOO much for reading. And hey, drop me a review, please, please…. Okay thanks. **


	22. Rootless Tree

Rolling over, Aegon's arm shifted over cool emptiness. Panicked, his hands glided across the sheets: searching. Where was Arya? Lifting his head, he found her by the window and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Can't sleep?"

With head resting on knees, she sat curled in the stone alcove.

"No."

Sitting up, his hands raked over his face, wiping sleep from his eyes. She never seemed to sleep anymore and when she did, it was fitful.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Did you have another dream?"

It had been a month since she'd returned and although her figure had recovered, the welts faded, something seemed to always be lurking behind her eyes.

The brash woman he'd married had become quiet, pensive. She was now even more reclusive than ever. They'd go to bed at night, a hasty mix of limbs, wet kisses and hot words. Both would fall asleep in sweaty exhaustion, only to be wakened hours later with broken murmurs and thrashing limbs.

"I didn't think, you knew."

"I knew," he replied softly. "You use to have them, sometimes, before..."

"I'll be fine. Go to bed. I'll come in awhile."

Lying back down, he watched her stare out the window for minutes before breaking the silence, "What are you thinking about?"

Arya breathed against the glass panes and drew ghosted images with her finger. "Childhood. The past... my father." In her mind, she continued, "**_Rickon, Sansa, Robb, Winterfell, Bran... Jon. You and I. What it all means… Jon."_**

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if things were different?"

Aegon smiled, "Different how?"

"If Robert never died."  
"The Usurper?" he paused for thought.

"If Robb had lived? If my father had?"

"You'd be married...To someone else."

"So sure are you?" Arya cracked a small grin.

"Probably, to some River Land, prick. Possibly a Frey."

"No." Arya whispered, "I'd never marry."

"Really?" Against the head board, he cradled his head in hands, reflectively. "I think I proved you wrong."

"You'd be married."

"I suppose, I would."

"Some Essos beauty? Long, blond hair, tanned skin, sweet temper."

"I prefer mouthy brunettes. And I'd have come to Westeros whether Robert lived or not. It's fate, Arya. Fate cannot be fought."

"Then he'd still die..." she answered, softly: remarking on Ned.

What was Aegon to stay, to this? Was it not true?

"Nothing would different. It all still would have happened." She turned from him, staring again, out the window.

Aegon had never asked what had transpired in those nine years before he knew her, and she'd never offered any details. But nights when she'd lay next him, sleeping naked, he'd counted the small silver scars that dotted her ribs and stomach more times than he could remember. And wondered where they'd come from and just how much they had to do with dreams that would sometimes cause her to wake in a feverish sweat.

"Before we married, after he died... Where did you go?"

"To Harrenhal, I told you that."

"After Harrenhal?"

Arya sighed, "Across the Narrow Sea, for a while."

"And what did you do there?" He was almost too afraid to know, scared of what he'd hear.

"A great many things."

Maybe he should have asked in the beginning. Aegon should have pushed the matter before everything else had happened- before she was taken.

"Where are those scars from?"

"Life."

"What kind of life?"

He wouldn't be easily pacified tonight and it was her fault. She knew it. Arya should have never asked 'what if'. It only led to questions she didn't want to answer. Rising from her seat, she shrugged off her shift as she went.

"An interesting one." Pausing before him naked, her desired effect, worked. Aegon was momentarily side tracked, gazing at her. He'd seen it hundreds of times. But it never lost its appeal.

Realizing her tactic, he pressed forward. "And why was that?"

When she crawled into bed, she answered, "It was quite different from this one..." Arya turned, then, pressing her back against him, "I lived a great many lives and did what I had to do, to survive."

Something in her answer subtly informed him that this was the closest response he was going to get to the truth. Curling up behind her, he pulled her in close.

"Arya?"

"Yes?"

Aegon nestled his face into her hair, "Even if things were different... Even if he had lived... I would have found you."

* * *

**Dany and Aegon**

It started as a whisper that grew into a rumor, which soon became talk and then a concern.

"We cannot return her now."

They marched for the River Lands in a week's time. Council meetings went late into the night, with discussion of strategies, arguments for defense. In the late hours of evening, with the council disbanded, the two dragons were left to decide the final details.

They had debated for hours whether to attack Stannis, if they should risk marching into the River Lands. Then, they argued even longer with each other, in private, what to do with Jon and Arya.

"I won't send her North. It isn't safe."

"That isn't whom I was speaking of... but you know that."

Reaching for the sheet of paper with the golden rose emblem, she placed it next the three headed dragon.

"She's with child…."

Aegon looked at the two coats of arms lined together.

"Do I have to ask? Or will you tell me?"

Clearing his throat, Aegon reached for his glass of wine, "There's nothing to tell."

"Did you take her into your bed?"

His tongue clicked off his teeth as he tried to decide how best to answer. "How do you know she is with child?"

"Her handmaiden warned me."

"Gossiping with handmaidens are we?"

"She came to me. I would hardly call that gossip. She claims that it is yours. Is it true?"

"Discussing our bed partners now? Tell me Daenerys, who warms your bed at night?"

"Don't avoid the question."

"Did you think I was unaware that you are sleeping with my brother? Come now, don't blush. I've known for some time."

"My bed partners don't happen to be daughters of Lords."

"Interesting, I remember a time when that was not the case."

Ignoring his slight and reference to Asha, Daenerys countered, "My seed hasn't quickened in another's womb."

Draining his glass, Aegon snarked, "Your seed won't quicken anywhere, dear aunt. Is that not why we are in this predicament?"

A pained look passed over Daenery's face. Being barren hadn't bothered her in years, but something about the way he spun his insults, made Aegon's words particularly biting.

"I'm sorry." He atoned quickly, "It's been a long day."

"Is the child truly yours?"

Hesitating, Aegon knew he couldn't lie to Daenerys, no matter how much he wished, he could, "I don't know."

"Have you taken her into your bed?"

"Only once."

"It only takes the one time."

Aegon leaned forward, head on table, hands running through his hair. "How do I know it's mine?"

"You know it's yours," she answered piqued. "Margaery Baratheon is not a maid of six and ten. She's twice widowed and not stupid enough to take just any man to bed and let his seed quicken."

With his face covered, Aegon groaned from beneath his hands.

"You will marry her, for we certainly cannot send her back to Mace Tyrell heavy with your child."

What had he done? It was a moment of pure idiocy, reckless abandon, and now he'd trapped himself into an impossible situation.

"Who else knows?"

"Varys…. Aegon, we discussed this." Reaching across the table, she took his hand in comfort, "It is for the best. We need the men."

"I can't." Images of Arya ran through his mind. How could he possibly explain this to her? She'd never forgive him.

"You must. It is your child." Rising from her seat she paused at the door, "We will tell the council soon."

"I am king. What I say will be done. Kings have fathered bastards before."

"Then don't be foolish. You are king, so lead. We will win this war. But we will not do it if we are outnumbered."

Before she could leave, he replied, "And Jon? We need him Dany."

"Jon will do as he pleases. We cannot stop him from returning to the Wall."

"What happened to a woman's touch?"

A smile curved on Daenerys lips, "You worry about your bed and I'll worry about mine."

"I'll speak with him." Aegon offered. If Daenerys could not persuade him to stay then maybe a brother's plea would.

Her departure left little time for reflection as Varys darkened the door.

"I was hoping to speak with you alone, if you can spare the moment."

Seating himself across from Aegon, he began, "My King, I have been apprised of some recent developments."

"I know, you know, Varys. Out with it. What is it that you wish to say on the matter?"

The Spider, briefly showed a simpering smirk before he continued, "I understand that you may have some reservations because of the current Lady Targaryen and I felt, that it may be best, that you be informed on certain opinions…."

Pouring himself another glass of strong, Dornish wine, he motioned for Varys to proceed.

"There has been certain talk or concerns rather, that you allow Lady Targaryen to dictate you actions. In times such as these, some may see this as a weakness of resolve, control."

Arya's willfulness had been the topic of gossip for over a year. Aegon was mildly aware that many in the council believed her boldness to be blight on his image.

"My wife does not control me, Varys," he answered indignantly.

"I would never presume, My King. I only wished to remind you that allowing certain indulgences, however appropriate in private, do not look favorable upon your ability to rule, in public. You are King. She is your wife. It would be in everyone's best interest if she were reminded of that from time to time."

"Arya's nature is not a threat to the throne."

"No, but tolerated insolence does not sit well with your supporters. You have responsibilities to the throne. Lady Baratheon, will make a good wife. She's favored with the people."

"I am aware."

Boldly, Varys leaned forward, "As the Hand of the King, it is my responsibility to look out for you best interests and to be frank when it is needed. Lady Arya has made you weak. You let her whims and emotions control your actions. She is only a woman. Women forget. They forgive. And as her husband and her king, she will do as you say."

Long after Varys had left him, his words swirled in Aegon's mind: "_You are king. You have responsibilities. She has made you weak."_

* * *

**Dany and Jon**

Walking out of the pits, he had hardly touched ground and removed his gloves before he heard her behind him.

"You're back."

The look on her face said it all. Picking up the hem of her dress, she was on him before he could reply.

Near dark, there were no witnesses as she snaked her arms around his neck and crawled up him, as if he were made of rope. Clumsily wrapping herself around him, she hummed appreciative noises into his neck.

"Missed me?" He smirked, through his mild embarrassment.

Mindlessly, Daenerys kissed him in response. She was acting like a love sick girl. She looked ridiculous but didn't care. There was no one to see, and whatever pretenses of reserve she had, was long ago blown.

"I should have never let you leave." She replied, running fingers through his hair, studying his face.

"I don't remember asking your permission."

Setting her back on the ground, she glowed up at him, "If I could tie you up and keep you here. I would."

"Hm?" He mused. This thing that had started between them a month earlier spelled disaster. Dany was bound to get hurt. It had to eventually end. And he'd reasoned with himself that it was best to do it sooner rather than later. But each time, it became a little more difficult to remain detached.

Her excitement was intoxicating. He hadn't had someone be so eager to see him in too long. And although somewhat complicated, her free expression of affection, had begun to fill the emptiness that haunted him.

Biting her lip, she tugged him to her, in promise, "Come." Nipping at his jaw, her hands were greedy. When fingers dipped inside the laces of his britches, his breath hitched, "I've been summoned, by my brother. Mayhaps I should speak with him first?"

"If you so wish..."

Jon wasn't sure what his real father would have said about his current situation, but he was pretty sure that Ned Stark's opinions wouldn't have been encouraging. She was his aunt. He was still a man of the Watch. They were not wed, and by Ned's word, he was dishonoring her. But as much as Jon would like to believe himself to be half as respectable as Ned, he feared sometimes he was more Targaryen than Stark.

"It can wait." He answered finally.

It was a bad idea. It had been from the start. But his mind was forgetting more frequently to remind him of this fact.

* * *

She pulled him in quickly as they rounded the corner, giving him a last warm kiss before they would separate for the meal. Post coital, both looked slightly disheveled as they hastily reached for each other in the shadows.

It was a high pitched whine broke them apart, leaving them exposed, as they found Arya in the middle of the corridor, Ghost by her side. The wolf barked- head bobbing in his direction, as Jon and Dany stepped apart, in embarrassment.

"Hush," bending to his side, Arya whispered something into Ghost's ear, as she stroked his fur, soothing the wolf, until he stopped anxiously pawing at the stone.

Rising from the ground, she made eye contact with Jon as the direwolf pressed its head into her leg, much like a child into a mother's skirts.

If Jon's face was flushed before, it was hot now. Whereas Arya's was eerily blank.

"Arya, we didn't see you." Daenerys apologized, attempting to break the tension, as she smoothed her appearance.

Arya offered a slight nod, acknowledging Daenerys, but didn't respond further. It had been weeks since they had last seen each other and even longer since they had spoke. But with Jon and Arya there was never a need for words. Years of familiarity had formed a type of silent communication, as a wordless conversation passed between them with a look:

**_"You're back."_**

**_"Not by choice."_**

**_"Do you hate me?"_**

**_"Yes…. Do you hate me?"_**

**_"Yes.… Are you happy?"_**

**_"I don't know."_**

And with that lingering, unspoken answer from him, she turned and moved towards the great wooden doors. Ghost sat torn and indecisive for moments. Looking to Jon, he whined again as Jon motioned for him to come. Watching Arya's retreating figure, he glanced quickly to Jon before padding after her.

"That was strange."

"How is she?"

They had separated completely now, as they neared the doors, resuming their formal acquaintance.

Daenerys hesitated, "Quiet… however your wolf seems to keep her company."

Jon didn't ask further. He didn't want to hear. It seemed the more time wore on, the further from the happy, careless little girl her knew from Winterfell, she became. Too much had happened. She'd never be that way again.

Although he loved her in whatever form she'd take….

He grieved for the death of the carefree girl of his childhood.

With just the four of them dinning, Jon remembered too clearly, why it was that he had stayed away. She didn't look at him. Arya remained focused on her meal and her husband.

When Aegon leaned in, whispering into her ear, his hand reaching for hers under the table, Jon forced himself to not to react. Even as he could still smell Dany on his skin, he felt the familiar pains of jealousy.

She'd settled down. She'd fallen in love with someone else. And although he had been painfully aware of this all along, knowing a thing and seeing it, were not the same.

Why did he come? Why did he do this to himself? Aegon could give her things that Jon could not. Must he sit here, must be stay here with them, with this uncomfortable knowledge?

When Dany rubbed her leg on his, her fingers brushing against his thigh, he reached down to meet her hand. He should not be the intruder. This was his family: his true family. Aegon was his brother. He had been a bastard for too long. Did he not deserve a home somewhere? Did he not deserve for someone to love him? Would he let her take this from him too?

They'd ask him. Dany always tried to convince him to stay. Aegon never failed to try to remind him of his responsibilities as a member of their house. But he always had the Wall. The oath he had taken and for the first time ever, found himself hiding behind: using as an excuse to stay gone.

"Jon, brother, it's good to have you home."

Her fingers laced around his, as Dany promised, "It's where you belong."

Did he? Could he stay here with them? Could he find someone like her? Had he found someone to love? Could he let it go?

It wouldn't be until hours later that Aegon found him and made his official request.

"I want you to come with me to the River Lands. We march in week's time."

Looking at Aegon, it never before struck Jon how different the two of them were.

Physically they were roughly the same height, same build. But Aegon's silver hair hung strait, his facial features sharp, his eyes a soft violet. He was polished. Always so neatly kept and controlled. Jon looked like a wildling next to him: grey eyes, dark curly hair, cut but still unruly, his face rough with stubble.

He doubted that Aegon had scar on his body, hardly a callus on his hands. He was older, but Jon felt as if he had lived twice the life of Aegon: fought real battles, and led men by merit- not name.

Before Jon could consider his request, Aegon finished, "I need you, Jon. I won't go without you. This is our legacy. I know you don't care about it. I know you don't want any of this," he motioned around him, "and that's why I love and respect you. You're the only man I trust. You always do the right thing. The only person I want with me."

Putting a hand on his shoulder, Aegon continued, "This is your home, Jon. Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, it is. Our father would have wanted this. He would have wanted us to govern together. He would have wanted you to stay with your family, not at some Wall. Not alone. "

"Aegon, I'm not a man for politics."

"I know and that's why I need you. You're honest. You're selfless and honorable."

How could he refuse him after a speech like that? Could he abandon Aegon and Dany with Stannis at their front door? Would he make that same mistake as nine years past, and stay at the Wall, detached?

"Okay." He answered at last. "I'll go with you to the River Lands. I fight this war with you."

Clapping his back, Aegon beamed, "I knew you would. You're a good man, Jon, and that's why I have to ask something else of you."

"Do I want to know?" Jon responded wryly.

Aegon became serious again, his eyebrows tugged together in concern, "I need you to promise me something….I don't trust anyone else."

He paused for a few moments and continued, "In the future, if something were to ever happen to me. If I die… take care of Arya for me? Don't leave her here. Take her back to Winterfell, the Wall, somewhere that she'd be safe- where she could be happy…. If we have children, look after them too? Raise them like they were your own?"

"Aegon…"

"I know it's a lot to ask. But if I died, I want to know that she'd be alright. That our children wouldn't have to be orphans, like us. That at least they would have an uncle, to look out for them," he paused, shrugged and smiled, "tell them about me."

Jon wouldn't hesitate. But did he know what he was asking?

"Of course."

"You swear it?"

"Yes. I swear."

* * *

**Margaery and Aegon**

"You wished to speak to me, My Lord?"

He hadn't seen her in weeks. Avoiding her as if she carried a plague: for shame, guilt and the lingering physical attraction that her face conjured.

Clearing his throat, he motioned for her to enter. He had her here; Aegon knew what he had to do. But he couldn't find the words.

"Have I displeased you, My King?"

"No." He answered hoarsely. "I'm sorry I haven't- that I didn't," he paused. He was rambling like a green boy. "I should have come to you. I should have apologized."

"For what, My King?" Her dark lashes, flickered over her warm brown eyes.

"Margaery, I took advantage of you. I was distressed..."

His earnest was endearing and nothing like what she would have expected. The Dragon King was to be cold, impersonal but mostly unapologetic. The night she had spent with him, he was none these things. Aegon was passionate, sincere, bruising her lips when he kissed her, eliciting sexuality from her that she'd never experienced. And afterward, when they'd finished in the early hours of morning, he talked to her. He treated her like a lover, not a stand in.

"You did not such thing." Smiling, she took his hand, "We both enjoyed ourselves." Kneading her thumbs into his palm, rubbing at tension, as if they should be so familiar, she continued, "I am here to serve you, My King, in whatever you wish."

"I'm married. I should not have- with my wife- I had no right."

"You have every right." She answered pointedly. "You are King. Whatever you want, will be yours."

Margaery Baratheon looked at Aegon like he commanded the elements: could toss the sea with a flick of his wrist, stop time if he so desired. She spoke to him as if were a God, to be worshiped. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that if Arya were here, she'd roll her eyes and snort.

"I know, about the child..."

Her face softened, as she peered up at him under thick lashes, "He will not be the first bastard born in Westeros."

Her warm voice soothed the edges of his raw nerves, giving him courage to continue. "He will not be a bastard."

With Arya things had been so different. He had wanted to make a thousand flowery declarations when he asked for her hand. He could have easily made a fool of himself and spouted his every thought and feeling. But he didn't, because he knew she'd refuse; that his affections would be foolishly wasted. This time, Aegon felt no desire to promise or profess anything other than guilt. But Margaery Baratheon wasn't Arya Stark. She was the kind of woman, widowed or not, that would expect such declarations. Even from a king.

"I would like to wed you. If you would agree."

Removing his hand, he continued, "I understand that these may not be the best of circumstances. You may have some reservations... however, the Targaryens have taken sister wives before-"

"Yes." She answered so quickly, he almost continued, not registering her answer.

"Yes?"

Last time it hadn't been so easy. He didn't know why, but lingering memories of Arya left him feeling as if he needed to continue. Didn't she want him to lay out his arguments for why they should marry? Should they not be bartering for something? No biting remarks?

Not every woman was Arya.

"Do you not want to hear the rest of my proposal before?"

Truthfully this was what Margaery had intended all along. Quicker than even the most studied of men of court, she knew of the imposition he was in, his desire to form an alliance with another great house, long before she came to his bed. But she'd never expected to feel this way. She didn't expect herself to be desperate with anticipation and need to be around him.

Leaning up on her toes, she gave him a chased kiss, before answering, "No. I've heard all I need to hear." She kissed him again, fervently, "Let me serve you. I'll love you well," she whispered. Placing his hand on their growing child, Margaery swore, "I'll give you as many children as you wish."

Pressed against each other, neither had noticed the other person in the room. Clearing her throat, Arya, rasped, "Varys said you wished to spe..." her words dropped off, into an abyss of shock and confusion. Shaking her head, as if to clear her eyes, she began backing away as she apologized, "I'm sorry. I didn't know I was interrupting."

Pulling away from Margaery, the color had drained from Aegon's face. "Wait! Arya, give me a chance to explain." But she was already gone, paying his pleas no mind.

* * *

**Arya and Aegon**

He could hear the hasty shuffling of items before he pushed open the door. In truth, he worried he'd be walking into a sea of tears and irrational behavior. But he should have known better. That was too feminine, too predictable: nothing like Arya.

She was waiting for him. The confusion wiped from her face, all personality gone. Aegon had only seen her like this once before. Her whole being went blank: divorcing itself to everything and everyone familiar.

The voice of the new, detached person, inquired, "Are you leaving me?"

A few items were gathered on the table, bundled for a journey.

"No."

Arya could see him staring at them, working in his mind, deciphering what his next move should be. Of all that ways that he would have wished to broach this conversation, this scenario was the worst possible start. With no preamble, nothing to buffer his case, she was left with only the raw evidence.

"Is she leaving?"

She was cold enough to send chills down his spine. A fight was coming, he could feel it. Always, the more harrowing the climate, halcyon she would become: calculating the best angle for attack. Placid beginnings made for bloody endings with Arya.

Hardening for his defense, Aegon reassured himself, that Varys was right. He had indulged her too much. He had always given her too much ground. He would marry Margaery Baratheon because he needed to. He had responsibilities- ones she couldn't possibly understand.

"No…. She'll have a child. I'll take her as my wife. We'll be wed by the week's end." If Arya was shocked, she gave no sign of indication. She didn't flinch, didn't bow her head, or tense in anger. She only stood deathly still.

"How long?"

For as cool and collected as Arya was, Aegon had become the opposite inside. Her stare was needling into him, causing his heart to race, his palms to sweat, his stomach to turn with guilt and regret, "It was once…."

"When?"

Boldly, he replied, "When you were gone." And then she made her move, stepping forward like an animal inspecting a threat. Emotionless, she questioned, "Was she a good fuck?"

"Arya." His hands gripped the chair in front of him. He was king: would do what needed to done and would answer to no one.

Sternly he warned, "You won't speak to me this way."

"I'll speak to you however I please." Her voice was sharp, blunt and vulgar, "Was. She. A. Good. Fuck?"

Neither breathed as they stared the other down, like cats preparing for a brawl, hair on end, they studied each other.

"Was she?"

"Don't do this."

"Answer me!"

"Different." It tumbled out before he could stop it.

"Did she enjoy it?"

Aegon's voice dropped an octave in warning, "Stop."

Her eyebrows lifted, her expression mocking, as she toyed with him, "Did she scream your name?"

"Don't."

"Did she?"

Finally Aegon's resolve snapped- the tension too much, he yelled, "Yes! She loved every minute!"

"Did you hold her afterwards?"

"Stop it." He growled

She was almost on top of him now, moving in close enough that he could feel the hatred radiating off her. As she circled him, questioning him like prisoner before torture, his hands clenched at his sides. Not missing a thing, Arya glanced at them, questioning if he'd be a physical threat; then moved closer, in challenge, "Did you? Did you tell her you'd never lie to her? That you cared for her?"

"Enough!" Grabbing her by the shoulders, he shook her hard enough to cause her head to snap back.

Furious and undeterred, Arya barked, "No! It's enough, when I say so. I want to know. Tell me!"

Exasperated, his words came quick, cruel and taunting, "We rutted away like dogs. She screamed my name. She said she'd never had better. I. enjoyed. it." Releasing her, he pointed to the bed, "I held her after. She stayed here all night. Is this what you want to hear?"

Looking at the sheets where they lay hours before, she responded, "Yes. I want to know that while I suffocated in a wet, rank hole," she paused before letting the words snap off her tongue. "While they fuck me… beat me near death, then left me to rot in my own skin- you lay here, slick with her."

For all the anger and righteousness that Aegon might have felt, as hard as he wanted to shake her, scream back; he wanted just as badly to die in that moment. It was as if: he could still smell the urine on her, feel her clammy, dirty, skin, the hideous red welts on her back, and see that terrified look on her face, "I-I'm sorry." He stammered.

"Don't say it! Don't you dare say that. Don't be craven now." She warned, as she stumbled back from him. For moments a look of furry shadowed her face, as she paced the room like a caged animal before finally calming herself.

"Why did you marry me?" She spoke at last.

"You know why."

"Do I?"

Moving forward, to comfort her, he offered, "You will still be my wife…" but was stopped with her raised hand, warding him off.

Coldly, like another person, she questioned, "Do you love her, or do you just need the men?"

"I must marry her, Arya. She will have my child…."

"And you will have whatever you please?"

"We need the men. We need the Tyrells to win this war. Without them, we cannot keep the people." Again trying to approach, he continued, "You will be queen. Nothing-"

She shook her head, as if he had told a joke, "I don't give a fuck, about your ridiculous titles."

Standing inches from her, he hoped he was right, "We could still happy."

"No. We couldn't. I don't love you." Arya had let him back her into a corner. And for as fierce as she could be, pinned between him and the wall she looked like a small child, begging to be taken seriously.

"You're lying."

Quickly, she wiped the tears that poured down her cheeks, "No. I'm not."

Towering over her, he softened with remorse as she tried to hold her composure. Seeing the formidable Arya, crack with vulnerability, made him feel like the smallest of creatures, "Yes, you are." He gently confirmed.

She did love him. In spite of herself, Arya did. And now she paid for it. She was stupid enough to think that she could have been happy. That she could have forgotten Jon and moved on with her life. That someone would care enough to not leave or lie, or betray her. She was an idiot and had trusted him. Did she not know better? Had she not learned too many times, to trust no one?

The words wavered, a little, as they spilled out, "Did you love me?"

Aegon sighed. He had meant to be firm on the matter. Varys was right. He was a king. He should lead, not be led. Aegon should dictate what was to be. She was his wife. He could not afford insolence in a time like this. But as Varys had accused him, he was weak. She made him weak.

"So much it hurts."

Looking up at him, with red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks, she answered, "Good. I hope it kills you."

"It just might."

* * *

**Sansa and Rickon**

"Tell me story."

"What kind of story?"

"One about knights, battles."

Sansa had lived enough of both. She remembered the fairytales and songs Septa would tell them before bed, in Winterfell. Back when she thought she'd live like those knights and ladies.

"How about I tell you something true? I tell you a story about a great family?"

"Will there be fights?" Perched on the end of the bed, he was small for his age. Although he was one and ten, almost two and ten, he looked as if he were only eight.

"Yes."

"Is there a knight, ghosts? What about dragons?"

"Yes…." He was too old to be caudal and cuddled. But Sansa paid no mind. Rickon couldn't remember their father and barely remembered their mother. He'd spent his childhood as an orphan: with no real sense of family or home.

"Come here." He pressed against her, his head fitting into the crook of her arm. Looking down at the little boy who thought of her as a mother, she cradled his head next to her chest. He didn't know. He couldn't remember. He'd never know how it was.

"I'll tell you of who we used to be…" She whispered into his soft brown hair.

"In the days of old, we were the Kings of Winter, the wanders of the North."

"Bran is King…."

"Yes, but as you know, it was not always that way. Our brother Robb, died, the first King of the North, since the first dragons came."

"I don't remember him." The boy replied apologetically.

"He was very brave and very kind…" Moisture pooled in Sansa's eyes momentarily as she thought of Robb. She hadn't allowed herself to think these kinds of thoughts in years. She could still see his thick coppery hair- blue eyes, like hers.

"He died for us and he died for love. He was betrayed, as was our mother."

Impulsively, the boy cut in, "Why? Why did they die? Why did no save them? Why did Jon not come? Why did he not save Robb and our mother?"

Surely he had heard some of these stories before? Mayhaps he didn't know what to believe. Possibly Bran was still too haunted with the future and memories of the past, to separate dreams from events. Or mayhaps he never told Rickon because he didn't want to remember.

"It was too late. No one knew what would happen. And Jon had taken oath…"

"Do you think it's because he doesn't love us?"

"No…"

"We aren't his family."

"Yes. Yes we are. Long before the war, in Winterfell, he was our brother."

The only Jon, Rickon knew was the Commander of the Watch: the man who wore black and hunted things of evil, in the dark.

"He was a bastard." The word slipped off the boy's tongue like the curse it was.

"Yes, but he was always our family. Our father treated him as a legitimate son."

In truth, at times, Sansa felt guilty even now, for how she had once treated Jon. How foolish she had been then- so small minded, so easily influenced.

"When we were young…." For an hour, her voice drifted into a sing song of stories, explaining to Rickon the picture of their childhood. Painting for him, images of their parents that he had long since forgotten. Describing to him, the connection between the Stark children: the history of who they were. Of what being a Stark meant. The boy listened quietly, all along, fascinated, as if he were hearing of someone else's life: someone else's family and not their own tragic story.

She questioned if he had fallen asleep, when he quietly asked, "Do you think they still care about us? Does Arya remember us?"

Placing her hands, on her swollen stomach, Sansa sighed, "No, she hasn't forgotten." "_She's changed_," Sansa wanted to say, but didn't because he wouldn't understand. The memory of her before was forever lost to him.

She hadn't seen her sister in close to two years, but could still remember the shock she felt in White Harbor. Arya had grown from the scraggly little girl she was, into a woman. Something about her had sharpened, however. The child that used to pull at Sansa's hair, and laugh endlessly, was gone.

She kissed his head, her mouth resting by his ear, as she soothed, "She loves us, Bran. Arya is different…. She always has been. But she's very brave… and if we needed her, if we were truly in trouble, she would come."

It had been months since Gendry's last raven. Hers had come back, unanswered. Everything had changed since he'd left. The guards stalked Sansa and Rickon's every movement around Storm's End. They were no longer residents, but now prisoners. In the safest citadel in the Seven, she felt as if they might be in the greatest danger.

Each day as she grew heavier with child, she worried of their fate. And although she may smile, be pleasant and act as if she were unaware of the threatening shift: at night, she clung to Rickon, as she did Cat. Not letting either of her children, out of her sight.

"And if she doesn't? I can protect us. No one will hurt us, Sansa."

She had tried to shield Rickon. He was only a boy. He was too young, almost as she had been, years ago, to understand what was happening. But apparently her efforts had become useless. He knew, as she did, that something was terribly wrong.

"I know you can. You are very valiant," she reassured." But we must pray. Pray for Bran, in the North. Pray for Jon, at the Wall."

"Pray for Gendry?"

"Yes, sweetling. Pray for Gendry and Arya."

_Pray for ourselves._

"Sleep, now. You stay here with me."

With Cat in the cradle, next to the bed, Rickon curled by her side, and Gendry's unborn child resting inside her, Sansa clung to her family- her children, and prayed.


	23. Love the Way you Lie

**Arya**

_The halls are shadowed and gloomy, the tapestries faded, cobwebs hang from the ceiling. She's been here before. But where is everyone? _

"_Hello?" She calls out, with no answer. Widows fly open along the corridor. Hot air pours past the glass panes. Looking from room to room, they're all abandoned. She stops before her solar and pushes open the heavy wooden door. Tentatively she walks inside, to find a woman by the fire._

"_Hello?"_

_Her brown hair is swept over her shoulders, braided and adorned. She's dressed in a cream gown: a wedding gown. When she turns to face Arya, she can see that she is nursing a child. _

"_Hello?" Arya steps closer, but Margaery Baratheon doesn't answer. Instead she coos and speaks to the thing suckling at her breast. _

_Heat pours into the room as something trickles down the walls. Reaching out, Arya touches the liquid and brings her hand into the light: blood. It streams through the tapestries, over the windows, drips off the fire place._

"_We will kill them all." Margaery tells the child, in a voice that isn't hers but Catelyn's, Arya's mother._

_The baby, gurgles in response, as she repeats the promise. _

_Something tugs on the fabric of Arya's leg, looking down, a pair of dark grey eyes peer up at her. Dark curls fall from the child's shoulders as it reaches its hand up for hers. Backing away, Arya bumps into the bed, finding another waiting. _

_A child, with long silver hair, grabs the other's hand and clutches something closer to its chest. Small arms flail from beneath the blankets._

_A red headed little girl that looks so much Sansa stands on the other side of the wooden frame, a brown haired little boy clutching her leg. Other children appear in the room, all watching her, oblivious to the blood pouring from the walls, pooling on the floor. _

_They're so familiar, as if she's met them before. Who are these children? _

_Her heart's pounding as she backs away. Margaery turns to her, from the fire, "You'll never leave."_

"_Stay…. Stay…." Hundreds of childish whispers fill her ears, calling to her from every direction: gnawing at her senses._

"_No…" She turns and stumbles from the room, their small eyes watching her go. _

_The halls are lit now and someone is waiting. Meryn Trant sneers at her, "Suffocate little girl." _

_She reaches to her side, looking for something to defend herself, but finds nothing. She turns, searching for anything, when she sees Dunsen, then Raff with his coat of coins. _

"_Rot little girl," they call out to her. _

_Her feet move without her permission. She's running from them, from their faces, but is just met with others. _

_Stannis Baratheon leans against a pastoral tapestry, snapping a whip in his hands. _

"_Cry out…. Try and cry, out. No one will come."_

_She runs to charge him when someone calls her name, "Arya. Why did you not tell me you were here?"_

_She turns to see Gendry. He's shirtless, his britches undone, "You must be careful. Rappers won't care if you are small or dirty. A cunt is a cunt," he says as he grins at her, like he did long ago._

"_I'll hold her for, ya," the guard, who watched the hole, Riddick. His milky eyes scanning her, making her skin crawl._

"_Did you hear me, Arya?" Gendry questions, reaching for her._

"_Stay back," she barks. But still he comes toward her. _

_She looks for something, anything, to hurt him with. Her hand touches a door. Finding the latch, she presses down and slips inside._

_She's standing in water to her waist. It's a river, cold and fast. Something bumps into leg, turning she finds Robb's blank expression looking up at her. Floating at her side, his head is almost completely severed from his body. His lips are black, his face grey, blue eyes glassy. _

"_Robb!" She cries out, reaching for him as the current drags him down stream. _

"_He's paid his debt to the Trident."_

_On the shore sits an elderly man, bald and fragile. His feet dangle in the stream and across his lap lays a woman, naked and bloody. He wraps his fingers around her red hair and turns her face. Catelyn Tully's blue eyes look back at Arya._

"_Do you think she can still have another?" He reaches his brittle knobby hand down between her legs._

"_STOP!" Arya hollers. She rushes forward, her legs sinking further, the needling water pushing her beneath as she struggles against it. _

"_I'll kill you!" She screeches, her hands reaching for him, as the current drags her head under the Trident._

_She opens her mouth and breathes in water. Coughing, she spits it out and looks down at a snow covered ground. Her hair is still wet, her clothes saturated as the moisture freezes against her skin. _

_Snow falls from the sky, as she turns to find herself in a field, with nothing around but a throne. On that throne sits a man. _

_As she approaches, she can see his face. He looks familiar, his eyes like Roose Bolton, only younger. His dirty hair falls over his grimy cheeks._

_Smacking his fat lips, he thumbs something resting in his lap. When she's feet from the chair, he unveils his package. Bran's face dangles before him, as he holds the head by its hair, putting it on display for her. _

"_He was no king. Should I tell you what I did to him?"_

_Lunging forward, something grabs her arm. _

_Ilyn Payne's thin pocked marked face and sunken cheeks, wordlessly mock her, "We took it with this." He thrusts forth Valerian steel, the sword that was once her father's. _

"_His head didn't roll as much," Ilyn concludes with speaking, as the blood from the sword drips onto Arya._

_She reaches for the blade to rip it away. Enclosing her fist around the metal, a curdling shriek explodes from her, as it burns her skin. _

"_Careful. You can't fight the world."_

_Grabbing her hand, Aegon turns her wrist and brings her palm to his mouth. Kissing it, he looks down at the old wound, "Do you remember when you did this?" His violet eyes smile at her, "I asked you to marry me." He runs his finger across the scars."You belong to me." _

_Kissing it once more, he continues, "Stay with, Jon." The words come from his mouth, but it isn't his voice, it's hers. _

"_Stay with, Jon," her voice commands again, from his lips. Arya snatches her hand back. He looks at her curiously._

"_You'll freeze," someone calls from behind. The wind whips around her body, causing her to shiver. She's naked, her bare feet crunching against snow._

_Aegon's gone and in his place, Jon. Feet in front of her, dressed in black, heavy dark furs about his face. The snow falls harder, the wind picks up._

_Arya feels something slick running down her back. Reaching behind, through shreds of open tissue, she feels the muscles that lay beneath._

_The wind howls, the snow swirls as she withdraws her hand, blood drips from her fingers and flows down her legs. _

"_Jon?" Her voice cracks, looking from him where he stood moments before. But she can't see. Everything's white. Snow crunches as he bends before her, sliding his arm behind her knees, picking her from the ground._

"_You won't die like this," he promises as he carries her through the drifts. _

"_They're dead."_

_With the next step he takes, a forest springs up around them. Heavily thicketed, the snow is gone, the trees layered with leaves._

"_Save your tears, for they'll do no good," he murmurs._

_Red hair flashes from the corner of her eye, as she hears a girl giggling. _

"_Come," it whispers._

_Following the sounds, she sees Sansa and Rickon, darting behind trees, chasing one another. But they aren't running, for they have no feet. They hover above ground, their bodies translucent._

"_Sansa, Rickon… they're ghosts," she reaches for them. _

"_We must go to the water," he responds, carrying her deeper into the forest. Sansa and Rickon disappear behind them._

_A white tree appears in the distance, red sap flowing from its orifices: the Godswood. Beside it glistens a spring. _

"_I'm going to wash you," he whispers, as he wades into the hot water._

"_Why?"_

"_Because you must remember," another voice answers._

"_Remember what?" _

_The voice is Ned's. Looking up, she finds her father carrying her into the water that laps around their sides._

"_Them," Ned replies, as Ilyn, Meryn, Dunsen, Raff, Gendry, Stannis, Riddick, and Walder Frey appear on the shore of the spring. Dangling from the heart tree, the eyes from Robb, her mother and Ned's head, stare back at her._

_Something rustles in the woods and moves in the background. Sansa, Rickon and Bran, but not as they are now: they're children still. Holding each other's hands, they watch her, alongside the men, beneath the swaying remains of their family that adorn the branches above them. _

_Before Arya can respond, she is forced under. Salty water fills her lungs as she struggles against the strong hand that holds her there. Clawing, kicking, screaming, she fights only to find the grip tighten. Finally when she could take no more, the hand is gone. _

_Bursting to the surface, she coughs and sucks in the cool forest air, her limbs thrashing in the water. _

_She's alone, until Ned's voice whispers to her in the wind, "The North Remembers…" _

Arya awoke, choking for air, ripping at the sheets around her. Sweat soaked her hair, her hands shook. Alone in bed, she searched the room, remembering where she was and what had happened.

"The North Remembers."

* * *

**Dany and Jon**

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

He adjusted uncomfortably for a moment. They had never done this before: lay in bed without something more. Jon felt a rush of nervousness.

"I should leave you, so that you may sleep," he replied politely, rising to leave.

"These are not my chambers," she answered, looking around, "and I'm not leaving until you talk to me," Daenerys pulled him down.

"Talk?"

"Yes," rising slowly to her knees, "talk now and later…" she shrugged part of her loose dress from her shoulder, exposing pale soft skin.

Moments like these, Dany could be unnerving. She watched him with a silent sincerity, always wanting- waiting for something from him.

What if he couldn't give it?

"Of what?"

"You…" There were few people who had ever bothered to ask him about himself: Ygritte once or twice, but only really in passing. The Imp, however that was more for mild amusement, Aegon.

And her….

But he wouldn't think of her when he was here. To mix the two felt wrong.

In fact, he didn't want to talk about himself. All stories revolved around the same shared past. All roads led back to her.

"You were married once?"

The expression she had shown him minutes before softened as she averted her attention. Settling back into the bedding, she was lost in thought, "I was… for a while."

Maybe this was why Jon didn't talk. He always seemed to say the wrong thing. He had never been like Robb, Aegon or any of the other men he had known, that were able to converse with females so effortlessly. Women were a mystery. The only ones he had ever encountered had sought him out and been determined in their efforts. If they hadn't, he might still be as innocent as a Maester.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No," she reached for his hand, "you've done nothing wrong. It was years ago. I was very young…."

She pulled her dress back over her shoulder, suddenly feeling very naked as she thought of Khal Drogo.

"He was a Dothraki, but I suppose you knew that."

Jon nodded in response.

"I was terrified of him when we first wed. I was only three and ten…."

She gazed off into the distance, thinking of her late husband." But we grew to understand one another. He was kind…."

This was something Jon never expected. The Dothraki were known to be a hard barbaric people.

"I loved him very much," her voice had grown soft and subconsciously she reached down, her hand ghosting over her mid section, before it rested in her lap.

"I was to have a child… but it died. I bargained for…. He didn't-"she stopped, completely lost in her own thoughts, as if she were speaking to herself and not an audience.

Something seemed to settle, as she came back to him, "That was long ago."

"You're lucky to have wed and been happy. Many are not," Jon answered softly.

"Yes, for a short while. I was truly lucky."

She blinked back what Jon could have only imagined were tears, making him regret further that he had ever said anything to begin with.

"It's a shame you never married, Jon. You would have made some girl very happy."

_"I was- still am. And for a very short while… we were_," he wanted to say, but answered instead with silence.

"There was some girl in your past? Some woman…. Who was she?"

Jon looked down, almost blushing like a green boy. Honesty wasn't a possibility so he settled instead for a half truth.

"A woman beyond the Wall."

"A Wildling?" Dany cocked her eyebrow in amusement.

"Yes."

"And what happened to her?"

"She was killed."

"I'm sorry…. What was she like?"

"Difficult," he almost laughed, "Very difficult and mean…."

"She sounds awful."

"No." This time he smirked, "Perfect… she reminded me of someone I once knew. She could be kind too. But very stubborn and sharp tongued. Wouldn't be told what to do by anyone and couldn't listen to reason."

This elicited a thoughtful noise from her before she replied, "She sounds like Arya."

Daenerys rarely spoke of Arya and had almost never called her by her given name.

_"Arya. My Arya,"_ his mind whispered.

Maybe it was best that she never said her name. His wife's name, from his lover's lips felt like a sin. Conjuring up strategically forget memories. Bring Jon back to a place he had tried to forget.

Suddenly he found himself thinking of a different time, night, at the Wall, when she kissed him as they lay in bed, wrapped around each other, whispering secrets in the dark. Long after she'd fallen into dream, he'd laid there, studying her face. Feeling so content he was scared to go to sleep. Afraid he'd wake the next morning to find her gone. Only the knowledge that they'd be like that forever, could stay with one another, soothed him enough that he was able to find sleep.

She may still be his wife. But he was no longer her husband.

What a fool he had been then.

"Did you love her?"

The color had drained from his face. Arya was the ghost that would haunt him till death.

"Gods yes," he answered emphatically.

_(Another flashback)_

_Arya grabbed his face in the yard of Winterfell. _

"_You've always belong to me. We need no one but each other."_

What had he done?

"Jon?"

"Hm?"

She had crawled across the bed and sat before him, invading his space, clouding his thoughts.

"I don't like to see you in pain."

Unnerving, she was always unnerving when she looked at him in this way, like he held the key to happiness: if he would only just give it to her.

"And what do you want?"

"Us," she kissed his hand, "nothing else."

He had warned her that he couldn't do this. He had told her from the beginning that she wanted something from him that he could not give then and would possibly never be able to give again.

At the same time, part of him wished he could. Jon wanted something for himself, whether it was right or wrong.

"I could make happy, Jon…. Whatever it is that you hold so close," she brought his hand to her face, "that bothers you so. You can let it go."

Only, if she understood, but maybe it was best she didn't.

_"If this goes wrong again…. If I ruin this…" he thought, "It may be my last chance at happiness."_

Before he could answer, Dany leaned in taking his mouth, pressing his shoulders back onto the bed.

"Enough talking," she breathed seductively against his cheek, dropping her gown from her shoulders, exposing herself.

If Jon struggled with what to say, there was always another language that he spoke. And both seemed to understand each other perfectly in that tongue, without words.

* * *

**Jon **

_The sun beat down, hot on his face, blinding him._

"_Come…" a voice, deep and familiar spoke._

"_Come to me."_

_Drawing his arm from his eyes, he looked out to see who was calling to him. But no one was there. _

"_Come." It commanded more urgently. _

_Stepping forward, his feet sunk in the sand as he followed the invisible guide. There was nothing around. No water, no tree, no life, only endless sand and heat. _

"_Come. " It continued to call, as he crawled up the hill, the course granules chafing his skin._

_Water. Water. His mouth was dry, his throat cracking._

_When he came to mount, the voice directed, "Come forth. I will show you."_

_With waste land behind, he looked over the sand cliff, into the valley, where lay a city, lush and busy. _

"_Sit." The orator requested._

_Water. He fell to the ground, feet dangling over the edge of the steep drop._

"_You are thirsty?"_

_He no longer called from a far, but now at his side. Turning, Jon found a man. Young, he could not have been more than six and twenty. Silver hair fell to his shoulders. Violet eyes looked back at Jon. _

_His voice, intimate, his face familiar, it was as if, it were Aegon speaking to him. _

"_Yes." He answered, in awe and slight suspicion._

"_Drink," he replied, as moisture filled Jon's mouth, without bringing a vessel to his lips. _

"_I have been waiting for you to come to me. I worried…."_

"_Me come to you?" Jon inquired, "Why?"_

_The man smiled and examined him for a moment. _

"_You have been wandering?" He questioned, as if he had extrapolated the knowledge from Jon's mind._

"_You have been searching for me, for a long time."_

"_I do not know who you are."_

"_Of course you do. You've thought of me often."_

"_I have?"_

_A strange feeling of cessation settled over Jon. A kind of peace he had never experienced before. One so inhabit, he wondered if he were dead._

"_Is this it?"_

"_Is this death?" The man answered, effortlessly reading his thoughts._

"_Yes? Is it?"_

"_No child. This is not death. This is life." He motioned to the city below, "Your life."_

_Jon looked down on King's Landing and area that lay beyond it. He could see for miles, possibly to the end of the earth, if he tried._

"_Why am I here?"_

"_As you have been searching for me, I have for you."_

"_You have?"_

"_Yes. I sent him for you."_

_He pointed beyond the kingdom._

"_To bring you from there."_

_In the distance, Jon thought he could see the Wall._

"_You belong with them."_

_Soon as it appeared, it faded into the background. His vision narrowed on two people: a man and a woman. Focusing his eyes, as if he were looking through a narrowing glass, he could see them clearly. _

_Aegon and Daenerys: side by side, as one._

"_You've been searching for them, searching for this."_

_Jon turned to look at this man, who seemed to know his every thought, as if he had lived his life._

"_Who are you?"_

_The sun shined through his silver hair, glinted off his airy clothing. His expression soft, but his eyes: something melancholy and heavy, set deep in dark lavender._

"_You know who I am." _

_He did, like he had known all along. The name came to the tip of his tongue._

"_Father," he thought. But, "Rhaegar," he said._

_They looked nothing alike. If he light, Jon would be darkness. But something so intimate made it undeniable._

_It was the sadness. The same inlaid abjection in both their eyes._

"_I could not leave you…. You've been alone, very alone, in your life."_

_He pointed again, "As have they."_

_Daenerys touched Aegon's face. He took her hand. Both looked to him, as if they could see him from that great distance._

"_You were meant to be with them. This is your home. It's always been your home." Rhaegar paused, sensing something tugging at Jon._

"_You're special."_

_For the infinite words that had been said to him in four and twenty years, none had ever gutted him quit like the last. He? Jon? Special? _

_His whole life he'd been told the opposite. He was an outsider, a bastard, unloved and unwanted, discounting a few. But they were dead. _

_Except for one._

"_Me, special?" The words dropped out of his mouth, marked by disbelief that bordered on humor._

"_The promised one..."_

_Promised? For what? _

"_There's been a mistake. I'm no one. I'm nothing, a bastard."_

"_You were never a bastard. You're a dragon. Now you must leave them."_

_Jon need not ask who 'them' could be, for the images of his winter family, four and twenty years of life, flashed through his mind. _

"_Go," he encouraged, motioning to Aegon and Daenerys. _

_He could feel them watching him._

"_They wait for you."_

_Jon felt an unmistakable pull towards the pair: male and female of the same, who beckoned him. _

_Turning, he faced his father, once again, "What about-"_

_But he was gone. Rhaegar had left and with him taken that peace._

"_Go home, Jon." He answered, to his son's emptiness._

When Jon woke the following morning with Daenerys curled around him, he couldn't have known exactly what that dream meant until later that day.

* * *

**Arya and Jon**

She sat alone in the dark Sept. With only the light of a few candles flickering against the wall, Arya could sense him there before he said a word.

"Leave me." She called out coolly.

Even with her back turned, she could feel it, the sympathy oozing from his every pore. And sympathy was not what she needed now. Arya had come first thing this morning and stayed all day. No one would seek her. Aegon would not follow her here. She needed quiet to think. There were plans that needed to be made before this evening, which was almost near.

Ignoring her demand, he commented, "I did not know you to be faithful."

"I'm not."

Arya didn't want him here. She likely would never wish to speak to him again, especially after this. But he wasn't going anywhere.

It had taken him hours to cool down. He had woken this morning with a sense of calm that had eluded him for over year. But it wouldn't last. As he sat in for his first council meeting, he could sense Aegon avoiding him. Jon could feel Daenerys tense.

When Aegon announced the news, Jon practically leapt across the table, throwing the council into chaos. He wasn't sure whether it was brotherly rage or his love for her that helped his hands find Aegon's throat.

How could he do such thing? Did he not understand what he had?

Even after the council had left, giving them a moment in privacy, Jon didn't release his grip. And Aegon didn't fight him. He only apologized profusely, promising that it would change nothing, repeating his regret of the mistake.

It took Daenerys coaxing him away, for Jon to release him, then over an hour of her speaking, on Aegon's behalf, for Jon to even consider listening to a word he had to say.

Still, even longer, for Jon to decide what to do next. Aegon and Daenerys stood side by side, asking for his support, the nest of dragons, curling around one another in defense: his family, asking for forgiveness.

And Rhaegar, still whispering to him from his dream.

"Then why do you come?"

Curtly, she snapped, "Because I'm not followed here."

Jon smiled, "Guess not."

He sat next to her on the bench, both facing the shrine instead of one another. It was easier that way. It seemed to always be easier if they didn't have to face each other. Lies somehow seemed less painful, the denial more real.

"Then you seek no truth. Follow no god?"

"Only death and he is not a god. He just is, Jon. I do not worship him. I accept his existence."

"Would you like to be alone?"

"Would you leave me, if I said yes?"

"No."

A long pause passed between them.

"What is it? Has someone else died?"

"_Just your soul,"_ he thought.

"No. We need to speak." What could he possibly say? How could he think of something intelligible when all he wanted to do was revel and drown in her misery all at once?

Why did he come here?

"I do not need your pity, Jon."

"Good. I have not come to offer it."

"Then what have you come for?"

Two sets of replies echoed in his mind, "_To let you go," along with, "To ask you run with me,"_ but neither came.

Instead he started, "What happened between us…."

She stared ahead, never faltering. He was selfish to come here now and say these things.

The brother he had been years ago, would reach out and take her hand. He would kill Aegon, brother or not. He would promise her they'd leave this place.

But the man that loved her couldn't say those things. That person was so tangled in ambiguity and confusion: the need to move on, but the desire to never leave. That hatred, love and sick satisfaction had left him without direction.

And then the dragon, the lost boy that needed to find his place. To stop running to things that no longer existed and holding loyalties to a family that was never really his.

"It didn't mean anything." She finally responded.

"Yeah?" He could feel it coming. The emotion he had wanted to divorce himself from.

"Do you love her?"

Did he? If he were honest, Jon knew that he could. That some part of him did.

Emotionless, Arya answered for him, "You do…. I can see it."

"I do."

"I think you should." Of every word she has ever said to him, he thought those were probably the cruelest. It made him bristle for a moment. Stiffening at her effortless dissociation, as she easily sucked him into a whirl wind of conflicting thoughts.

Finally she asked, "Was it ever possible?"

They had always been so alike, always the same person. But now, she'd become darkness to whatever light Jon had left. She'd become the hatred to whatever love he hoped to find.

And that's why he did it. Because if it didn't, he'd let it kill him.

"No." He lied.

Arya had expected it. She knew was coming. But she was still foolish enough to ask.

His words cemented whatever things she'd already planned in her mind. Snapping any hope she had left, causing her to laugh at her own idiocy.

It was a bitterness that could only be match by her mounting indifference, "Sometimes I think… what a waste…. Then I remember. It never was."

They sat in silence for a few moments before she rose, moving to leave.

"I'm sorry, Arya."

"For what?"

"That you're hurting."

"Are you? Don't waste your thoughts, Jon, for I am not. I don't feel…. I don't love."

And he believed. Her eyes were ice, everything familiar that he knew to be Arya, gone.

"Will you leave?"

She tilted her head, a strange grin shadowing her mouth, "Who wishes to know?"

"Jon."

"The Targaryen or my brother?"

"Your friend."

She hesitated for a moment at the door. Would this be it for them? This is how they would end?

Then Arya was back, for the briefest of moments, shutting No One out.

Slowly she walked to where he stood. She'd never been one for forgiveness and most likely wouldn't start now.

Instead, Arya sighed, smiling like she hadn't for years.

"_Gods, he's perfect,"_ she thought, letting herself come close enough that neither hardly had room to breathe.

They studied each other. It had been the first time they'd really faced one another in over a month.

Then she answered him, "You tell my brother… never."

Leaning in, her lips touched his. Soft and sure, a rush of warmth-long forgotten peace came back to Jon with stinging familiarity, until she pulled away.

"And your friend?"

"What friend?" She softly replied in all honesty.

* * *

**Arya and Aegon**

She traced her steps back from the Sept, finding the path she'd take to leave unnoticed. By the time she had made it back to chamber, it was well past dark, easily slipping in with no one around. She quickly prepared to leave.

Pulling her hair back, she took Needle from its hidden place amongst her things. Although it was too small her now, made for the little girl she once was, Arya couldn't bear to part with it.

Tucking it beneath her cloak, she didn't bother to look around the room before she left. She wouldn't miss this place. It wasn't home. It had never been home. She always knew she didn't belong here.

When she pulled open the heavy wood door, she was stopped by the guard that hadn't been there before.

"I'm sorry, Mi' Lady."

A man of the King's Guard, she recognized him from the months she'd spent in their company, during the late, miserable nights, of her first months in this place.

Rolly was a brawny man. His arms looked like ale barrels, his face like leather. He was a least a foot taller than her, possibly around 15 years her senior and well seasoned as a guard, previously a man of the Golden Company.

"You are not to leave."

Another guard stepped into view. Younger, he couldn't have been more than four and twenty. With his hand hovering above his sword, she could sense that he, unlike his partner, had some reservations about what they were doing.

"You cannot be serious."

"You will stay in your room, Mi' Lady, as the king commands."

"I am not a dog. I do not take orders."

Moving to side step the man, he caught her arm roughly, "We will use force, Mi' Lady."

"Stop calling me that."

When she moved to shake herself from his grasp, the younger guard, reached to restrain her. His efforts were met with a sharp prickling sensation that ran over his fingers, looking down, blood, poured from the cut onto the stone floor.

"You shouldn't have done that."

In a state of disbelief, the guard watched as Arya advanced forward, attacking the older man.

Maneuvering past, slowly she back he way down the hall. Tensed for the fight she knew was coming, "Do not test me."

"Mi' Lady, you will not leave." The Rolly barked, as he drew his sword.

"Stop me." She challenged.

Looking to his wounded companion, he ordered, "Take up your weapon."

"No." Shaking his head, a look of indecision and worry had spread across the younger guard's face.

In her mind, Arya calculated her move. The one she had sliced would be no challenge. He clearly feared hurting her and could be swiftly disarmed, Rolly however, seemed to have no qualms about drawing blood. If she could only wound him, she'd be able to outrun them both.

"Let me leave and you both will live."

"Take up your weapon, Maxis. We serve the king, not her."

The young guard winced as he complied, watching as the older man fell upon Arya with brunt force.

Expecting sweeping, sloppy movements, she quickly dogged his hasty move, falling right- only to find the younger man waiting for her. Although, he was still undecided, he seemed determined to follow orders.

The struggle continued for minutes, as they slowly advanced down the corridor. Finally disarming the younger guard, she took one look at the solider from the Golden Company, wheezing in his efforts and turned, sprinting down the hall.

"Get her! Men, grab her!" He bellowed, as she rounded the corner, bringing herself unknowingly into a greater fight. She had little time to think as two other guards, sprang to action, flying towards her.

Like sharks they circled her, as the third man rounded the corner.

"Drop your weapon, lady."

"Let me pass," She panted.

"No."

"Then we have a problem."

"I will not hesitate to cut you, lady."

Next to the men, she looked like child. It had been a well over a year since she'd had a good fight. Whatever sparing that had been done in that time had been for play, a mild amusement to pass long tedious hours at the Keep.

But her body knew, with the most distinct familiarity what was going to happen next, as it clicked into locked stance, welcoming their attempts.

"Try it." She taunted.

Without further invitation, the long, hallow halls filled with the sounds of clashing metal and shouts that reverberated throughout the Keep in stereo.

The fight lasted minutes, as she easily wounded one and disarmed the second, taking his weapon in her left. With both blades, she rounded her opponent, watching his body, counting his breaths. He was tired, weakened on one side. If she could wound his leg, he'd surely fall.

He spoke to her, but she didn't hear his words and wouldn't waste her breath.

"You're wounded. You won't last." He argued.

She hardly noticed the blood trickling from her side where she'd been grazed. Arya didn't care. She glanced at the window- calculating.

How many men littered the halls? How many more would she have to fight before she could reach the ground floor?

The window…. The window.

Could she survive the drop? What was it- 100 feet? 200 feet? What was below that window?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the pounding of footsteps echoing on dark floors. They would have company soon enough.

Pooling their force, an injured guard, that had pulled himself to his feet, descended on her with Rolly, in unison, forcing her against the wall. Dropping the unfamiliar guard, she gritted her teeth in pain as she felt a blade slide against her fourth rib.

"_Just a scratch." Her mind whispered, "A teasing reminder that you still haven't killed them. End it quickly." _

"Give it up." He growled, as she lunged at him, sticking him soundly in his left thigh.

Eliciting a throaty grunt from the victim, she looked away for a second to the window.

"_It's now or never. Try or die."_ Her mind screamed, as she stepped forward to finish him. Then leap to freedom or death. But before she could strike, he abandoned all caution and plunged forward. Although the tip of her blade sunk into his lower abdomen, he was undeterred.

In a fluid motion he grabbed the metal and ripped it from the tissue, throwing it aside.

Although Arya was quicker than any of the men, she was no match for their strength.

_"I should have jumped,"_ she thought.

With his hands on her throat, he slammed her against the wall, applying enough pressure that her vision clouded with dark spots. Feet dangled in air, as he held her there, hoping she'd pass out.

Fighting against natural instinct to panic, she had begun rotating her shoulders when someone cried out, "ENOUGH!"

Undeterred, Arya quickly brought her upper arm down over his wrist, loosening his grip, before her elbow slammed into his face.

"Fuck!" The soldier yelled as he staggered back, dropping her to the ground. Quickly, she caught herself. Arya scooped Needle from the floor, blinked a few times to clear her vision and swirled to find her next attacker.

It was no longer the three of them, as she was met with a handful of men from the King's Guard and a horrified look from Aegon.

"Arya! What the seven hells?" He exclaimed, looking to two men bleeding on the ground and the other, in a fit of rage, coming at her again.

"STOP!" He yelled, stalling the guard, "Leave her."

Stepping forward, his expression was a mix of concern, anger and disgust.

"Are you okay?" Bleeding from her side and high rib, red marks- the foretelling of later bruises, peppered the side of her face and neck.

Without reply, she dropped her back foot and crouched in defense.

Surprised, he stopped mid step, "What are you doing?"

"Leaving," she calmly answered, "And if I have to cut every single one of you down to do it. So be it."

Loudly he exhaled, "You're not leaving."

She tilted her head to the side as if to gauge the seriousness of his statement, she questioned, "And who will stop me? You?" She laughed.

"Yes."

Gesturing to the sword that lay on the ground, inches from his feet she mocked, "Come. You wish play soldier? Let me teach you."

"I will not fight you, Arya," he answered calmly. "Now set down your blade."

"Let me pass."

"No." He had feared she would do something like this, which is why he had sent the guards. In truth, he'd been secretly afraid for over a year that she would realize that she could leave him. That she would simply just decide at any time to disappear.

Then, it would have been painful, but now, unbearable. She may hate him for it. It would certainly make them enemies for a short period, but better enemies in the same room, then enemies from a far.

"Eventually, she'll calm." He'd tried to tell himself. "Eventually she'll see that nothing will change. She'll remember what we were."

How little Aegon knew still, of Arya.

"Then it seems that we will have conflict."

"I don't want to fight you, Arya."

"And I hadn't planned on killing you, but we all must die…."

Before he could answer, she swiftly moved forward opening the fabric that covered his chest, exposing skin.

"Arya…." he warned.

Without a response, she did the same to the other side, except this time, she purposefully cut through tissue, drawing blood to provoke him.

Restless, a few men of the guard stepped forward in his defense.

"No." With out- stretched hand, he stopped them.

His voice was slow and composed, "Do not do this, Arya. I don't want to hurt you."

Tired of talk, she stepped forward as if in surrender. Only to draw him inches closer before deftly cutting a thin line, a finger's width in length, along the base of his ear.

In mild surprise, Aegon touched the laceration and glanced at the blood, smeared between his fingers.

"Do not challenge me." He hummed in warning.

"Pick up your weapon." She replied dryly.

"And what? Fight you?" He mocked her with laughter, "You will only get yourself hurt… for what? You'll never make it past the guards."

Despite his best efforts, she was wining. She was drawing him out in anger, always so effortlessly able to slip under his skin.

But this was Arya.

He stopped for a moment, softening, "Please, Arya. You're being irrational. Let us stop this nonsense."

"LET ME PASS."

What small audience they had, had begun to fade into the background, as the tension between them became electric.

"No." He answered sternly. "You are my wife. You will stay here where you belong."

"I am No One. I belong nowhere."

He could feel his skin prickling with anger. She would not hesitate to humiliate him.

"I can't let you go. I'm sorry."

"I'll fight you for it. If I win, I'll leave and spare the other guards."

Blood tricked down the side of his neck, blotting into his shirt. "And if I win?"

"You won't." Her eyes were ice cold, her voice void of any expression. She spoke to him with a kind of confidence he'd never heard from anyone before.

Confidence which was not ill placed, for even though he may be unaware, Arya had always known that she could kill him anytime she chose. And today, would have to be that day.

"_Fight or die,"_ Her mind whispered. She was caged, like an animal here. She'd known it for months, a year. Even the most welcoming of captivities, was still a prison. Her happiness had been brief, as it had always been in her turbulent life.

"You will not stop this?"

Shaking her head, slowly she motioned again to the sword on the ground.

"Pick you, your sword."

It had come to this. She was to leave and he would not permit it. The wolf that had lain dormant for a year was soon to be unleashed.

Slowly, Aegon bent to take the weapon.

"My King." The guards moved forward, unwilling to watch the fight play out.

Again he held his hand out in command, "No." Looking to Arya, he instructed, "We will finish this now. When the lady loses, I want you to take her back to her chambers."

"And when I win?"

He swallowed and fought back the urge to go to her, embrace her and look for the woman he knew loved him.

Who was she kidding? As if he did not know every scar, every bruise. She'd never succeed. He knew her as if he would know himself. Whoever this was, that she was pretending to be, it would not last. She would not win.

His weakness was only matched by hers.

"The lady…" he paused, not wishing to even acknowledge the possibility, "she may leave."

As soon as the words left his mouth, she was on him and the dance began. It was a test of wills. Although, he had seen her practice more than few times and fought with her beneath the Heart Tree, long ago, he knew now that neither were accurate representations of her capabilities. They were merely a game.

Inches shorter than him, he'd never fought someone so small or nimble. Her strokes were curt and precise. Each move, every advance, any shift, she was ready, effortlessly avoiding him.

"You're testing, me," his commented, sharp with annoyance. Side stepping another stroke, looking mildly unimpressed, she commented, "No. A test would imply a challenge. This is not a challenge."

With a flick of her wrist, the tip of her blade, slid over his hand, leaving a shallow cut.

"Do not toy with me, Arya." He could feel the heat rising to his face as he sucked in a low deep breath.

"_Do not hurt her_," he reminded himself.

Coming at her again, she quickly deflected him, sweeping at his knees, causing him to buckle to the ground.

Arya could sense him holding back. Only further irritating her. She didn't have time for this.

"Get up. Gods you're pathetic. Are you not King? Are not a dragon?" She taunted.

Rising from his knee, he caught a look from the small group of guards. She was right. He looked pathetic. Their game was over. As with everything with Arya, this wouldn't be gentle.

She might be quicker than him, but he was stronger. Whatever training she might have had, he had also been trained. His mind flashed to Griff:

_Young Aegon rushed towards the man, blade in hand. Griff quickly shrugged his efforts, causing the boy to crash to the ground. _

"_You must be patient. It is not the strongest of men that will win. It is the one who waits for weakness; who preys on carelessness."_

Regrouping, he waited this time, for her to become impatient and attack him. With the block, he grabbed her arm, throwing her against the adjacent wall. Bouncing briefly, she had barely enough time to recover before he was pressed against her. The force of his body and blade lay fully across hers.

Reaching with his arm, he pitted part of his weight against her bleeding rib and watched as her eyes narrowed. Her stomach muscles tightened, stifling her response.

What would Griff think of him now? What would he say to this? What had Aegon become?

Her breath was labored and sharp, as her jaw tensed. She was clearly in pain, for he could feel it, as if it were his own body. Why did have to be this way?

Inches from her face, he whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. Don't go."

Latching her foot around his, Arya mustered her strength and pushed hard, causing him to stumble back.

"I'll kill you before I stay."

And so their fight continued, for a great length of time. A tedious struggle, as the blows stopped being superficial and desperation grew.

Finally, both disarmed, they looked like animals. Blood smeared across his throat, face and poured from his leg. Bleeding just as equally, she glanced down at Needle. With arms outstretched, they waited for the next move. If she did not find a weapon, she would surely lose. Of all the training she had ever received in the House of Black and White, of everything she knew, all that she had learned and seen. One thing was sure. She could not win in hand to hand combat.

"_Do not drop your blade. Lose a limb. Take a blow. But never drop the blade."_

_A girl of three and ten, she's panting for air, in the small dark circle. The man, motions for her to advance. In frustrated haste, she springs forth. Only to swiftly be struck on the wrist. _

_The knife drops to the stones and quicker than she can react, the man is on her. Her back is pressed to the ground, his knee at her throat. She struggles to throw him, but her efforts are useless._

"_Do not drop you blade." He repeats again, in a thick, deep, Braavosi accent. _

_She struggles harder, her arms thrashing against him. He holds her still. _

"_DO NOT DROP YOUR BLADE." He presses his knee further against her throat, until she stops moving. Satisfied that she understands, he backs away and lets her stand._

"_You will never win in a hand to hand fight with a man. You will easily be overpowered."_

"_I can be faster."_

"_Yes. But he need only connect once."_

_He steps on her sword, "Never drop your weapon."_

"_And if I do?"_

"_Then you'll likely die." _

Feet from her, she eyes Aegon for a second and lunges for Needle. But he catches her just in time.

Thrown hard, the panes of colored glass cracked and shattered against her back, as she slammed against them with full force.

Noises from the men, who had watched in anxious horror for the past fifteen minutes, instantly snapped Aegon's focus. What was he doing?

Glass fell around her. Blood poured from her hair line.

"Arya, oh hell, Arya, are you okay?"

He rushed forward a fool, like a worried husband and not an adversary. Not someone fighting to keep her there, fighting to save his pride. not the soldier or King he should be.

His hands were on her face, her blood smearing across her forehead as he cradled her head.

"What have I done?" He whispered in horrified grief. "Oh gods, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have hurt you."

Her weight shifted, as if her knees were buckling. Supporting her frame, he let her lean into him, drawing her closer, before she had him.

As sure as he thought he knew Arya, she knew him better. Pulling the Valerian steel from his waist, the small blade that had once belonged to his father, it was one of the only things Aegon had of Rhaegar's and kept hidden on him always.

The fine edge was pressed against his throat before he could register what was happening.

"Game over," she whispered, the words hot and victorious against his mouth.

With her hand on his face, she pressed against his earlier wound, leading him back, blade to neck.

Poetic, she thought, to kill someone with their own father's blade.

The King's Guard jumped into action as the pair stepped into clear view. Rushing towards her, armed to kill, she froze them in their tracks, "One more step and he's dead."

Most stopped, but one or two continued further.

As if to prove her point, she dug her nails further into the wound on his face, eliciting an involuntary hissing noise.

"Back!" She yelled.

Blood coursed over her fingers from the laceration as she slowly forced him to the ground.

"Make it quick." His answered unemotional, as his knees hit the cold stone.

Adjusting the angle of the steel, she took in a sharp breath to follow through, when he stopped her.

"I love you, Arya." His hand reached up, wrapping around hers and the blade, its heft pressing the knife further into his skin. "Always will, no matter what."

His silver hair lay plastered against his forehead. His eyes locking with hers in reassurance, "Now get it over with."

"_DO IT. DO IT. DO IT! You stupid silly girl,"_ her voice screamed in her ears.

But she couldn't. Maybe it was the agreement. She'd said, if she won, she'd let them live.

Maybe it wasn't.

The knife moved against his skin, missing his throat and instead carving a fine line ear to jaw. She marked him in victory.

Stepping back, she tossed the knife feet to the side.

She'd won. She was leaving. Struggling to rise, she answered his efforts with a warning, "I spared you once. I won't do it again."

Retrieving Needle from the ground, Arya was almost to the guards when he answered, "I'll see you again…."

Stalling her, in her tracks.

"I'll never stop…. You can leave now. I'll honor our agreement. But I'll never stop looking for you."

And he marked her.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, "Then you'll find an early grave."


	24. Cold As It Gets

**Hey everyone. First, thank you for the lovely reviews. I appreciate them. Sorry it has taken me so long to update. I had to first write pieces of later chapters so I knew what needed to be covered in this one. Meaning, yes, this story does have direction. I know exactly where I'm going but I don't have clear ending in mind. Enjoy! **

"The men march now. They will not take Winterfell."

Bran looked past his confidant, Jojen, out the window into the dark night. Dreams. He had been dreaming again. But now he did not know if they were images of meaning or ones of regret.

Did Robb feel like this when he led me to battle? Did he carry this weight in waking? Did he sleep with the image of mother's sons, slain and dying?

"How many?"

"Four hundred pass the Barrowlands."

"How many will they meet?"

"We don't know, My King."

The pallor of his skin had become almost ashen this past moon. Dark circles forming under his eyes. A man of seven and ten, he looked as if he had one foot in the grave and another still in this world.

His faithful friend from childhood, sat next to the young King of the North, just as burdened by his worries as if they were his own. Only Jojen could understand the heaviness that came with knowledge of the future.

"You see, my friend. What is it that you dream?"

"I don't know."

He could hear the questions, respond in conversation, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He was always lost between the present and possible future. At times he wondered if he should have sent for Rickon long ago. Should he have taken the risk and brought him north? Should he have denied Sansa's marriage to Gendry Baratheon and defied his mother?

He should have written Arya.

Mayhaps they should have hid forever in the Haunted Forest and waited for death there. The last Stark of Winterfell was haunted by ghosts. Expectations of who he should be. A legacy of greater men that felt empty when he fought for an abandoned home.

Wolves howled in the distance. Always there, but never seen. Summer, grew restless with each lonely call. The direwolf wished to leave and join the pack that wandered in Wolfswood. Liter mates circled Winterfell but would not approach, as if they were waiting for something.

"The wolves, the men fear they grow larger in number. They say a female leads the pack."

Bran watched Summer, who ground his nose to the floor in frustrated angst. The wolf torn between a duty to Bran and a need to rejoin the siblings that waited.

"Will you leave soon, also? Go to GreyWaytch?"

Jojen's fate seemed to be sealed long before their war had begun. Like Summer, he was caged here with Bran out of loyalty, putting off destiny.

"No."

"You need not stay for me."

"It is not my time. But when I do, I leave you in good hands."

Meera Reed would not travel south with her brother. She would not go from Bran. Much older, their summer/ winter relationship had developed over the years but remained unconsummated.

"What is it that you see?" Jojen questioned.

Bran would not wed Meera until they had put down the Bolton rebellion. Jojen seemed to know more than he spoke, delaying certain ends, for fear of some future that included both his friend and sister.

But Bran dared not ask, fearing what he would hear.

"I don't know if I dream or I imagine. The things I see, will they always become real Jojen or do I make them so?"

"We cannot know. We see things we do not choose."

"The pack is dividing. I can feel it. We're lost…."

"My King, I must confess I do not know what you mean."

"You have not seen a certain end?"

"For some, yes. And you?"

His grave, tired eyes looked at his companion. "Death will always be a close friend."

XXXXXXX

"She does not answer, My Lord."

Stannis sliced through the wax seal, reading the letter.

"Has she read them?"

"The ravens have been accepted, My Lord."

Melisandre waved the soldier off, excusing him from their presence.

"I am sending men, to recover her memory."

"The dragons are coming."

"Do you think I am unaware?! Damn that woman. What else would she want? I have offered her freedom if she brings men."

"She is of no use to us now."

"We will not stay here. "

Sliding the parchment across the oak, Melisandre peered down at the short scroll. "He's agreed then?"

"Yes. We give him what he wishes and we will get what we want."

"And what is it that he has requested?"

"A favor should there be the need."

Melisandre watched Stannis with a scrutinizing eye. He'd aged to be three times older than the man she'd met years ago.

"Lord Gendry, does he waver still?"

"He does not follow me for loyalty. He does so out of fear."

"Fear is more powerful than love. Fools lead with kindness."

He lifted the letter to center candle and lit the paper. Watching it burn, he asked, "Do you ever wonder if we've gone too far?"

Stannis had never been a particularly sensitive man. It seemed his whole life he had to fight for something. He'd been discounted. Always overlooked or slighted.

He never loved his wife, either of them in fact. He tolerated his daughter. The sad little thing she was, that waited for him with small protection, hidden in the North.

He'd never loved her brothers. Robert and Renly were equally both fools. But still he wondered if there was ever more. If other people felt something other than hate.

"No. The sea woman will join. The dragons will not give her the same offer."

"And the other?"

"The road to light is only through darkness."

"But at what price?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

"She's gone."

Jon looked up at him over a pile of papers and maps. It had only been hours since he'd last spoke to her. Since she left him there with nothing. As she always did. Draining him and then leaving in silence.

Aegon looked haggard. His appearance disheveled, for the first time Jon could recall. When he turned to grab the flagon of wine, resting on the table, he saw it. A thick, purpling cut, drawn from his ear to his jaw.

"She just left."

Mouth closed, breaths steady, Jon didn't respond. He knew this would happen. He knew she would go. He hoped he was wrong, but could see it in her eyes when she kissed him in the Sept.

Falling into the seat across from him, Aegon took a swig of sweet wine, like it was air. "Did you know? You knew she would leave." He asked in a way that was both accusatory and defeated.

"You cannot contain her, Aegon."

He slammed the leather against the table, "She's my wife!"

Jon sighed, maybe Aegon would never understand. "Arya will do as she wishes. She cannot be kept. If she wished to leave, a title would not stop her."

"Then what would?"

"_Love,"_ Jon thought.

He once believed that only one thing could motivate Arya and it was love. But when he saw her in the Sept he thought for the first time this may no longer be truth. For the warmth that use to be Arya, was gone. Now only emptiness and hate were left.

"Nothing."

"Where will she go?" He questioned, watching him like a judge searching for deceit.

"I don't know."

He eyed his brother, trying to determine if it was a lie, "Yes, you do. I know you two. Thick as thieves. She would tell you. She would not leave without saying goodbye."

"Then you misjudge our relationship. She has told me nothing." If they were speaking of anyone else, Jon may have become defensive, resenting the attack. But his mind was adrift. His thoughts, wandering to other things.

That was it. That was their last kiss. Would they never speak again? Would he not see her face even once more?

His mind trickled with fear. For it very well may be. If Arya wished to gone, she would be. And not heard from ever again.

"You swear it, brother?"

"Yes."

His expression changed, as he drained the wine and picked up a quill. Withdrawing a piece of parchment from the small stack, he dipped the pen in ink and began scribbling a message.

"I'm going to find her, Jon. She won't make it far," looking up from the paper, he continued, "She's on foot. They'll find her in days."

Jon watched as he madly transcribed the message. "You won't find her." He answered at last.

"A few dozen men…. I'll offer a reward."

Reaching across the table, he stilled his brother's pen. Should he be relieved that their marriage was done? A weight lifted now that she was gone? No. There was an overwhelming sense of loss. And something else. Empathy.

He looked at man that now knew the feeling he carried for years. And although misery usually enjoyed company, Aegon's despair only seemed to sharpen Jon's. Not offer relief.

"You will not find her, Aegon."

How little he knew of Arya. The cut that marred his face was evidence enough. He did not know what she was or her capabilities. Although how could he?

Jon had always wondered if she shared with others as she did him. He'd tortured himself for over a year, with thoughts of them whispering in the dark. Telling secrets. Sharing the kind of intimacy that he and Arya once had. But he knew now that it must not be true.

"I will. If I send enough men and the reward is great. We'll post notices on every road, in every village, and tavern in the Seven. I'll send men across the Narrow Sea. Scouts to Essos. Someone will find her."

Jon sighed. It was not his story to tell. She must have had her reasons for not saying a word, so neither should he. But the look on his brother's face, one so similar to the Rhaegar of Jon's dreams, caused his resolve to soften.

"If Arya wishes to be gone. You will never see her again. She has certain talents- training…."

Jon leaned forward, "She is not a just any woman, Aegon. She's seen things…. Done things…. You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly."

"Do you?" He motioned to Aegon's facial markings, "I think not. She learned things when she was gone from Westeros. These skills, they are not something to be tested."

There had always been a connection between Arya and Jon. Aegon had known it before they wed. The brother and sister, always close. Sharing in some private world that no one else was allowed to join. In truth, he'd always resented it. He knew Jon spoke to Arya of things he would never tell Aegon. It chided him that Arya shared things of herself and that Jon knew of weaknesses, she'd never expose to Aegon. But maybe that was how all siblings were.

"She's good with a blade," he admonished, touching his wounded.

"She's more than that. You're lucky she let you live."

"Is that so?" Aegon leaned back, eying Jon with both suspicion and impatience.

"She's not stupid enough to leave a trail. And she'd likely kill whomever you send."

"And where did she learn these skills? Embroidery? Day lessons for a Northern Lady?" He mocked. Aegon resented the hell out of Jon. He knew of those years she'd never tell him about. He knew of the dreams that caused her to wake in sweat.

He knew Arya. Aegon's Arya and another that she'd kept private.

"The Faceless Men."

XXXX

She appeared behind him as he righted himself in the looking glass.

"You look handsome."

He glanced at her briefly then tugged at his hair. Longer now, it hung to his shoulders. Hastily he tried to tie it in leather and struggled.

Coming from behind, her hands rested on wedding blacks, "Sit. Let me help you."

Taking him by the shoulders she led him to the chair. Running her fingers through his hair, she began braiding the strands.

"I don't think I can do this Dany. I…"

Guilt churned in her stomach. Who was she to ask this?

"I know, Aegon." Tying the braid with leather, she bent and kissed the crown of his head, "She's gone."

"Dany…." There was a slight waver of uncertainty in his voice.

Rounding the chair, she brushed his face, confidently assuring, "We will survive this as we have things before."

Bending she kissed his mouth briefly, "But if you do not wish to do this. If you can't…. Then you will not."

Holding her hand in place, he looked up at one of the only women who understood him.

She smiled, "To think. If things were different. It would be some other woman here. Conspiring to end your marriage with me."

It was true. If the rebellion had never been it was likely that he and Dany could have been wed. They were close in age. Similar in temperament. How things would have been different.

There would have never been Arya. Maybe together they would have found peace.

"The Tyrells will rebel. They'll join Stannis."

"And the Martells threaten to do the same. You have rejected Arianne of Dorne and wed a Stark. Then taken a sister wife from the House Tyrell."

"I don't take another wife by choice."

"I know." She traced Aegon's face, understanding his frustration and sadness, as if it were hers. She had pushed for this. Lobbied for it even. But could not stand to see him so miserable. They were family. The only family both had. And Jon.

"We'll find a way. We always do. If you do not wish to marry then you will not. I won't see you so unhappy."

He kissed her palm and then rose to his full height. Could he back out now? His already bedded bride waited for him down the hall.

"I'll do what is needed."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Taking Aegon's hand, she soothed, "We'll find her. I promise."

He believed. She gripped his fingers between hers and looked at him with love and true affection.

"I will not find peace until you also have it."

The two dragons exited the room, hand in hand and walked the long hall, to Aegon's bride.

XXXXX

Older, minus an appendage, Jamie had still fared better than their dear sister whom had reportedly bloated and faded in her later years.

"Let them kill each other."

Born first, he looked every bit the part: tall with broad shoulders, good looks and carefully placed lines on his face. But Jamie Lannister never had the mind for a Lordship. A soldier, he lacked the patience, cunning and careful planning that came from years of compensating for physical inadequacies. If he was the face of Lannister, then Tyrion was the mind.

Cobbling together their broken estate, in the past years, the pair had carefully saved what was left of the Lannister fortune and even more auspiciously guarded their political intentions.

Funny, how history seemed to forever repeat itself, Tryion thought. Years ago, Tywin Lannister, had considered similar fates: join the Baratheon rebellion or let the Targaryens burn the realm.

"Tempting, but neither would favor us."

His brother looked to the Lady of Tarth. Strange, that a man so comely surrounded himself with such deformity of Imps, beasts, mutes and loved only monsters. His sister's beauty was once flawless but her soul hideous.

"There is Myrcella to consider."

Jamie visibly flinched at the mention of her name. The soft girl: once the mirror of her mother. Even now, with nothing left at stake, he would never admit she was his.

"We should have never wed her to that sand snake."

"It's done now."

His sweet niece had always been a toy to be passed about.

"Twice, the Targaryens have passed on Arianne Martell. The proud House of Dorne may not favor the King as they once did."

"Then what is it that you suggest?"

True, Tyrion would never be Lord of Casterly Rock, only the architect of its future. Jamie lacked foresight as much as he did indifference in all things that even indirectly once involved Cersei. Would his brother choose to join the King that kill Tommen and the only woman he'd loved or the usurper who could have easily ordered the same sentence?

"We wait. Let the others march their bannermen to war. An ally is always seemingly more appreciated in desperation then times of plenty."

It often surprised Tryion. For as much as he hated their father, it was in moments like these he knew himself to be never far removed from his once oppressive influence.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa stopped praying the day that Peter Baelish darken her door.

"Alayne."

Her stomach lurched. Her hands clenched.

"Sansa..." she stood, setting down her needlework, "Lady Sansa Baratheon."

He smirked, entering without invitation, "So I've heard. And with child, I see."

Her hand drew across her belly, protective, as she moved sideways, blocking Cat's bassinet from view.

"Lord Baelish, I wasn't uniformed of your arrival."

Her skin crawled as he crossed the room and seated himself feet from her.

"Yes, well news travels slowly in times of war."

Her heart thumped against her chest as an old familiar feeling of terror crept over her.

With a deep breath, she reminded herself that she was no longer a child. She was wife, mother and Lady of Storm's End. He was her guest and an uninvited one at that.

"Strange, I don't remember offering an invitation."

His face went maroon, his mouth narrowed, "Your husband sent for me."

"He did?" Clearly a lie, Gendry would rather send her a quick death than invite Petyr Baelish within miles of this place.

"Yes, it seems with the departure of Ser Gilbert Ferring and Meadow, he worried for your well being, here alone."

"I was unaware that Lord Baratheon had made your acquaintance."

She never looked more like Cat then in this moment, Peter thought. It appeared motherhood agreed with her, as he quickly eyed her ample breasts and round hips.

"_Oh, Cat. If we had wed, this is how you would look carrying our child."_ He mused. "_Now I settle for your pretty daughter."_

Brushing her leg, he reached behind Sansa, looking at her closely guarded prize.

"Did I say your husband? I meant your uncle."

When his finger moved to touch the blankets, Sansa quickly removed the child.

"Pretty thing, does she have a name?"

Pressing Cat close her chest, she slightly backed away, "Cat. Why are you here, Lord Baelish? It is an awfully long trip to inquire on the well being of a wife and mother. I'm sure Lord Arryn is lost without you."

"Robert is well. His health is remarkably improved as of late. And yes, it was a long journey. I must say, I expected a more pleasant welcome from such a close friend."

"My apologies, you've caught me off guard. How long will you being staying with us?"

Moving towards the door, her thoughts traveled to Rickon. Where was her sweet child?

"For a while. Stannis fears for your safety. It seems your husband's health has been failing."

"Gendry?" Her heart slammed against her chest.

Following her as she crept towards the door, he answered, "Yes. It seems war does not agree with him. Should he not return or something happen, I would hate to think what would become of such a lovely wife, unprotected and unspoken for in times like these."

"I appreciate your concern, Lord Baelish, but I'm sure my husband will be fine and I have all the protection I need. The bannermen loyal-"

"Have left today, marching for King's Landing."

He moved like a cat slinking towards her, as she side stepped a low stool.

"With your brother, Bran under attack in the North..."

Sansa's face twisted uncontrollably with fear and concern.

"Oh, you weren't informed? Yes, Ramsay Bolton is most likely marching on Winterfell as we speak."

"Arya-"

"Lady Targaryen is missing. It seems your sister has disappeared from the Red Keep. A reward has been offered for any man that can return her, dead or alive. I hear the King has sent men across the Narrow Sea, even."

With her feet crossing the threshold, Sansa quickly offered an apology, "You'll have to excuse me, Lord Baelish. My brother has been ill. I must check on him."

Not waiting for a response, she rushed down the hall searching for Rickon.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Everywhere she looked there was terror. The King's Road was despair. The dragons had landed. Every village she passed was burned or ruined.

"_This is Targaryen peace?"_ She thought. "_No better than the mad king."_

People littered the roads, soot and blood stained faces, washed with tears. Belongings in hand, they wandered in tattered rags. To where? No one knew, just south. Away from death.

She'd stolen a horse east of Harrenhal. "Turn back!" They yelled to her as she'd pass, moving against the crowd. "Only death is north of here. Save your soul!"

Dirty children trailed behind her. Clambering against the horse's hide, they begged for food or help. Droves of orphans looking for a mother or someone to care, peered up into her face, lost and scared.

Arya was not a mother or shelter and No One was allowed to feel nothing.

Weeks into her journey, a little girl with dark hair, no older than eight, traveling with her brother cried out to Arya. She thought the child to be begging for food when she ran to the horse, arms outstretched. But reaching on her toes, she held something up for Arya to take.

Accepting the wrinkled paper, she unfolded it to find a sketch of herself staring back. A reward. A king's ransom for information about her whereabouts or return to King's Landing.

"Is that you?" The little girl squealed. "They're everywhere!"

Reaching into the saddle bag, she retrieved an apple giving it to the child as an offer of thanks.

"No." Directing the horse into the woods, she never used a road again and traveled only at night.

During the day she slept in trees, out of sight and hidden. She'd wake at dusk, her hands scrapped from clutching bark, bugs and dirt clinging to her sweaty skin. Alone, all No One had were thoughts that were quickly forgotten.

Dreams.

No one could forget in waking, but dreams haunted her. The last days she stopped sleeping. And instead, used only her prayer for rest or comfort: _Raff, Ilyn, Dunsen, Meryn, Walder, Riddick, Gendry, Stannis. _

Ghosts followed her. Maybe it was best to be Ilyn Payne. To have your tongue cut out, silencing things that weigh heavy in memory.

X

When she reached their camp there were tents, hundreds of them squared in the thicket. Delirious from lack of sleep, she was that much more determined to finish it. No One had to move tonight. The whispers were everywhere. Talk. Talk of dragons. The fear of another attack.

Hours were spent waiting. Crawling in dirt in the outlying fields. Watching the men move. Finding her targets. Looking for an opportunity. No One waited for dark to strike.

As the sun kissed the horizon, she stretched her legs and closed her eyes.

"_Raff, Ilyn, Dunsen, Meryn, Walder, Riddick, Gendry, Stannis. "_

First Gendry. Then Riddick and Stannis would be last.

Covering her hair, she secured her weapon and made her last preparations before she was stilled mid movement. There was a rustling in the distance. The uneven movement of wind. The gush of wings. Inhuman screams that pierced the air. Dragons.

She was out of time.

A flash a red covered the earth as the dragons flew overheard, scorching the camp. Men burst from their tents, weapons raised and bodies on fire. Within minutes the peaceful scene had turned into complete chaos. Soldiers ran in every direction looking for safety from the heat. Archers pointed to the sky, aiming at the circling beasts. And then the men came.

Filtering through trees, scurrying along paths, there were soldiers everywhere. No One didn't move. She stayed focused, until her victim came into view.

While others moved with haste and worry, he stood silently by the tent, watching the enemy press onward. Hammer in hand; Gendry stepped forward, commanding the men behind him to do the same.

If she was a different person, with different circumstances, she would be impressed by the man that was once her friend. His resolve in the face of death. His ability to move forth without fear or anxiety. To lead men to certain ends and do so without thought.

But he was not longer her friend. He was the man that held her in a dark tent and stole from her things that he once claimed to protect. He'd left her alone to rot.

He was no one. Just another name on a list that whispered on repeat in her private thoughts. He would die today as many had before. He would pay his dept to her and to the God of death.

As he marched on to the field, men behind him in confidence, No One rose from her spot amongst the tall grass and joined. She followed them to war as the sound of iron clashing, filled the air with death.

Pulling Needle from her side, she wounded one and killed another. Without armor she was vulnerable. And not likely to be able to withstand full combat. But undeterred, she stalked the Baratheon traitor.

She wasn't alone in her pursuit. In parallel a soldier, shrouded in black, also stalked the Baratheon. His Sword dripping with blood.

Dragons circled above.

Jon.

Aegon.

They weren't far. But there were greater things at hand.

Names to be marked from a list.

A man in full armor stepped in front, blocking her view. Blade raised, he rushed at her yelling in his last stand. Hatred in his eyes, he moved to kill but she quickly thwarted his efforts. Striking him soundly between his breast plate and leg armor, she looked in time to see her competitor stick her kill, in the thigh. If No One didn't move fast, she'd miss her opportunity.

Men continued to fall upon her with blood in their eyes. Wading through decay, she stepped over injured and slain men, watching their exchange.

With his face covered, he wore no sigil. He wasn't an ordinary solider. The man in black was an assassin.

Swinging his hammer, Gendry connected in time to hobble from the ground. When the executioner dove forward to deal the young Lord a final blow, he was stopped.

With longsword raised in air, blood spouted from his mouth. Falling forward, the masked man landed between them as Gendry Baratheon looked up to find the woman that would kill him soon.

Raising his hammer, he blocked her advance, struggling backward. Pressing forward, No One raised her sword to finish him quick when she heard her name screamed above the mass of dying shouts and cutting metal.

X

Dismounted from his Dragon, Aegon moved through the field. Slitting the throat of his nearest opponent he was close to taking another until he saw her, a flash of dark braided hair.

"Arya!" He called out as he ran. It may have been his imagination or it could be real. He didn't care. Struggling through the sedge of battle, he moved towards her. His heart in his throat.

She turned catching his eyes amongst a field of bloodied bodies, her adversary crawling away.

But as soon as he saw her, she was gone. Disappearing into the crowd of soldiers.

X

Stopped in her tracks. She turned to find the caller whose voice was unmistakable. Their eyes locked in the sea of men, reminding her of things that were gone.

No.

Turning, she moved further into the heat of battle, following her wounded. He'd crawled to the edge of the field, moving into the trees.

There she would find him. And there she would kill him.

He lay back against the trunk. With his hand pressed to his side. Blood gushed from the wound. Carefully she approached. The tree line so dark that only the outline of his body could be seen.

Gendry coughed and dropped his hammer to the ground, pushing it away. "I know it's you." He called out into the darkness. "I've been waiting…."

Fires blazed behind Arya, illuminating her as she approached.

"I'm unarmed. I won't fight you," he continued.

Seeing his hammer, she stepped forward and crushed his resting hand with her foot.

"Hells." Gendry sucked in a quick breath, wincing as she grabbed him by the hair. Yanking hard enough to tear it from the root, exposing his dirt stained neck.

No One didn't speak. She didn't blink. She hardly acknowledged any part of his person beyond the pulse she could sense, throbbing in his throat. The pumping that was soon to end.

Her other foot, assaulted his leg. Her weight bearing against the wound that would soon fester. Drawing her blade, he could feel it cold against his throat.

This was it. "_This is how I'll die_," Gendry thought. He would never meet his unborn child or see Cat and Sansa again.

"I'm sorry, Arya." He reached out and touched her foot, "I had to do it for them. For Cat."

The edge was piercing through the first layer of skin. She could feel him swallow. The last intake of air.

"Help them. Please. Arya, they're in trouble."

"Sansa?"

"Find them. Keep them safe. They may already…."

She saw the image of Sansa and Rickon hovering without feet, their faces solemn in her dream.

"Now do it." He motioned down to the blade. "I don't want to live with this anymore." In the partial light of the burning fields behind them, she saw it. Moisture pooled against the white of his eye, then dripped onto his cheek.

Applying pressure, the blade cut through tissue before she felt it.

Heat. Burning heat.

There was a sharp hissing noise and then an explosion, as the trees around them burst into flames. Branches fell everywhere. Flakes of embers touching their skin. Falling back, she flipped onto her stomach, attempting to clear the smoke that seared the lining of her throat.

She couldn't see. Everything around was red and burning.

"Find her! Help her please!" She couldn't see him, but she knew his voice, screaming to her in agony through the smoke. Crawling on the ground, blind, she felt her way to a cooler surface. With her face pressed against wet blades of tall grass, she gasped for fresh cold air.

Every tree for as far as the eye could see was black or burning.

Gendry.

She'd never finish him now. He was wounded and practically immobile. He'd surely burned. Struggling to stand, she looked to the battle within a hundred yards. Thousands of men littered over possibly a mile. She'd never find the other two now.

"_I could wait," _she thought.

The dragons screeched above. How long would they have?

Sansa. Rickon.

Arya took one last look at the field and made an instant decision. They'd have to wait. She had find Sansa and Rickon. Protect them, if they were still alive.

In her dream, why were they ghosts? Had she failed them too?

Arya ran from the battle, torn in her resolve. Names on a list to be marked off.

But Sansa and Rickon.

Grabbing an abandoned horse, she mounted the beast and whipped it hard. Pointed south, she left the battle. Heading toward the troubled wolves of her fledgling pack. Escaping in time to avoid the troops from Vale as they stormed into the clearing. Crushing the King's forces in number.

She missed armies firing on the dragons, the Targaryens running for cover, as the House of Dorne and Tyrell were devoured on the field.

XXXX

**Okay there you have it Petyr is back. Oh, I don't like him. He is such a creep in the books. Anyhow, thanks for reading and please review!**


	25. Raise Hell

**Sorry the last chapter was so short. I've been busy. Also I went back and edited the first 20 chapters. And I HATE editing. Sorry for any spelling, grammatical errors, etc. For the most part they should be fixed although I'm sure I'll find more missing words, etc. Hang in there. **

**I know last chapter had little to do with Arya. Sorry, for the story to develop there have to be other characters and their story lines, relationship developments, intentions etc, to make the story interesting. I haven't forgotten about the love triangle or square or well I don't know. There are a lot of random relationships happening at once. But they haven't been forgotten. Still developing. **

**Thanks for reading. Hope you like!**

(Flashback)

_Looking out the window she watched as the men gathered in the yard behind the great wall, preparing to go wherever it was that Stannis would send her husband._

"_I won't be gone forever, you know?"_

_He'd snuck up behind her. Leaning against the bed post, arms crossed over his chest, Gendry stood for minutes watching his wife. With her hand resting on her belly, he could see she was fighting back tears as she watched the men load the horses below._

_Startled by his voice, she tried to discretely wipe the moisture pooling at her lids before she turned and responded, "Of course not."_

"_Then why are you crying?"_

"_In my experience when husbands leave they don't come back."_

"_Oh Sansa," he reached out brushing his thumb across her cheek, "you couldn't keep me away if you tried. Nothing will happen to me. I promise. I'll be back before Cat can stand."_

"_You'll be careful?"_

"_Yes. I'll think of something Sansa. I swear it."_

_From behind he pulled out a small package. _

"_A gift?" Her delicate hands, unwrapped the soft linen, discovering a small dagger._

"_I had it made for you."_

_Taking her hand, he wrapped it around the polished wooden hilt. _

"_For what?"_

_Sansa didn't know how to use a knife. She'd likely stab herself first._

"_I had intended to show you myself how to handle it, but it seems there isn't time."_

_Pressing the tip of the blade against his high abdomen, below his last ribs he instructed, "You strike a man here, to stop him in his tracks. But careful not to aim too high, you'll hit a rib and likely hurt yourself."_

_Turning, he applied the tip again to his lower back, inches from his spine, "Or here. It won't kill him, but it will hurt like hell. You understand me?"_

_Her fingers lay limp against the wooden surface. _

"_Yes." She answered nodding her head. _

"_You need to protect yourself while I'm gone. Protect Cat and Rickon."_

_She continued nodding her head. Sansa had never been a fighter. That was Arya. The thought of using knife against a man terrified her. _

_Releasing her hand, he gently kissed her, his fingers tracing her abdomen, "I know your scared Sansa, but don't be. You stronger than you think."_

"_Are you going?"_

_Rickon stood nervously in the doorway._

"_Yes, little wolf."_

"_Oh, okay." Looking down, he shifted side to side, wishing desperately to run to Gendry and hug him goodbye or beg to go with him. But men didn't do those things, only children. And Rickon wanted to be a man not a boy._

"_Come here, Rickon." Gendry commanded gently._

_Taking him by the shoulders, he crouched to his level. "While I'm gone, you're the man of this family. I want you to take care of Sansa and Cat. Can you do that for me?"_

"_Yes, Ser." The boy answered sternly, "I'll guard them with my life."_

_Patting him on the back, Gendry replied, "Good man. Good man," and waited a few moments, letting the boy revel in their manly moment before he wrapped his arms tightly around him, in the crushing hug that the boy so desperately needed. _

_Rickon couldn't remember his father or Robb. He didn't know Jon. Bran was hidden in some northern castle. Gendry was the closest thing to an older brother/ father that Rickon had ever known. He worshiped him with a god like ardor._

_He kissed his wife one last time, "Stay safe for me."_

"_I promise."_

Nothing had changed. In the days since his arrival Petyr Baelish had stalked her every movement around Storm's End as if she were still Alayne, hiding in the Vale. From the moment he'd stepped across her threshold she knew in her heart, he had no intention of ever leaving. Gendry wasn't ever coming back from the war because Petyr Baelish was going to do any and everything possible to make sure he didn't. It was then that she knew she had no other choice. It was either live free or die here slowly under his perversions.

Past seven months gone, she could hardly walk much less run. And with a baby and a child, she didn't have a chance in hell of making it. But she had to try. Sansa couldn't stomach the thought of what would happen to her, to Cat or Rickon if she didn't.

So late one night, long after she'd barred Rickon's solar door and dimmed the candles she made her move. Swaddling Cat tightly to her chest, she gathered a few small items and shook Rickon from sleep.

With her finger pressed to her lips, she pointed to the boy's day clothes, whispering, "We're leaving."

Pulling on britches and tying his cloak, he finally questioned, "Why?"

"Because we must, dear. We aren't safe any longer."

"Where will we go?"

Sansa had no clue. Away from here, gone from Petyr Baelish, his lingering looks and inappropriate touches was the only place she wanted to be.

"Do you trust me?"

The boy stopped, looking up at his sister, who had really become his mother.

"Yes."

"Then we must go quickly and be quiet."

Moving like field mice down the dark halls, they easily passed the third and second floors. But narrowly missed being caught on the bottom. Cat had begun to stir letting out a high pitched yelp, signaling she was hungry. Hastily, Sansa pressed the child to breast, almost smothering her in the process. A guard, who had been patrolling the hall, looked momentarily in their direction and then thought against it.

Signaling to Rickon they slipped past him unnoticed and scurried across the yards, past the stables. Days before, Sansa traded the pearl clip her mother had given her years ago when she was just a child, for a few dragons. Exchanging them, in secrecy with one of the stable boys, she had arranged for two horses to be waiting for them by the gates.

She thanked the Gods when they found two geldings grazing in the shadow of a few trees along the western wall. Grabbing the bridals, she loaded the saddle bags with the few items she was able to grab.

Quickly she helped Rickon into the saddle. Handing him the reins, she whispered, "Hold her steady. It may take me a few moments to saddle myself."

Turning to her own horse, she looked for something to stand on, to help her slip her foot into the stirrups but found nothing. Sighing, she tried a lifting her leg high enough but couldn't seem to keep her balance.

Had they been in other circumstances, it would have been funny, watching her thin leg try to support and balance the weight from her round belly and sleeping child. Finally lancing her foot through the stirrup she reached for the horn, to pull herself into the saddle when she heard Rickon's horse stir.

"Hold him steady," she whispered, her back turned. When the horse, stomped at the ground again and neighed, Sansa, wrenched her head back, "Rickon hold her ste-"

But Rickon wasn't in the saddle. If they were silent as mice, this man was a ghost. Dropping her foot from the stirrup, she turned find Rickon struggling against the large adversary. With his hand clamped around the boy's mouth, he called to her, "Now where are you going Miss?"

Quickly Sansa reached for the dagger, Gendry had given her. Clumsily she held it out threatening, "Let him go."

"Or what?" The man laughed.

Rickon screamed and kicked under the man's heavy hands.

"Put that away dear, before someone gets hurt."

Stepping out, from behind the mountain, Petyr Baelish motioned to Rickon, "You wouldn't want something terrible to happen to the boy?"

Sansa's hand shook. To prove his point, he withdrew his own knife and held it to the boy's throat.

"Don't make me do it."

Rickon tried to look brave, but when blood trickled down his neck, his eyes went wide.

"Okay." Watching Rickon in pain, clawed at Sansa's soul. She dropped the dagger.

"Good girl."

Taking her back to her solar, they had to pry her from Rickon as they escorted him to his.

"Please, let him stay with me," she begged.

"No." Baelish answered sternly. "The boy must learn to sleep alone."

When he shut the door behind him, locking them in, she choked out, "You won't hurt him, will you?"

Petyr smile, "No dearest. Do you remember what they use to call me when we lived in King's Landing?"

Sansa stood in front of Cat's basinet, blocking the baby from his view. "Littlefinger, Master of Coin."

"Yes, that's right. And do you know what my business was my dearest?"

She shook her head, knowing full well what he had done there but unable to speak, for she feared where this conversation was leading.

"I owned a brothel. The best brothel in all of Westeros. Do you know why it was the best?"

She shook her head.

"Because we catered to every desire a man could have. And there were some strange appetites. One of my best clients was trader who had a particular taste for young boys."

Sansa felt that she would be sick at any moment.

"He wrote me months ago, requesting that I send him one. Do you know what he does to those boys?"

She had begun to cry silently.

"Well, I'll spare you delicate ears, my loved one. But know this. He would pay a great price and once your brother was gone. He'd never be found again."

As he spoke, he approached her until his breath was hot on her face, "Family can make a person do strange things I hear. You see, when I think of you leaving me, it makes me wonder if you don't understand what we could have, Cat. It makes me want to do crazy things, like send your brother to somewhere far away."

"No." She croaked.

Leaning in he kissed her then answered, "That's what I thought. Go lay down dearest. I'm tired now."

Sansa shook as crawled toward the bed. When he crept up behind her, laying his head on the same pillow, his hand finding her belly, he whispered, "He's dead Cat. He won't be coming back from this war. But we're happy about that, aren't we?"

The tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she cried over the loss her husband, the fear for her future and the knowledge of complete helplessness.

"Aren't we?" he repeated, clutching her stomach harder.

Slowly she shook her head.

"It's going to perfect Cat, I promise. Someday we'll have our own." He thumbed her left nipped, sending a cold, sickening shiver into her bones.

"This is how it was always meant to be. And you'll never leave me, right?"

Overwhelmed with grief, she was drowning in tears, when he pinched her nipple, "Right?"

"N-n-no, I won't go." She stuttered.

His hand reached down, feeling under her skirts, up her thighs till they rested against her small clothes.

"You're too far gone for that," he whispered against her ear, "but there are other things." Taking her hand he forced it down to the outline of his hardening cock.

"You want to please me, don't you Cat? You want to keep your brother safe? Your children? You want us to be happy?"

"_You are Sansa Baratheon, once Sansa Stark. You are wolf. You must protect your pack._" She recited in her mind.

"_Protect them." Gendry._

As her fingers slipped beneath the laces, her tears dried on her cheeks. Sansa Baratheon cried. Alayne- Cat, didn't. Cat didn't feel. Cat survived.

XXXXXX

He was on ground when the soldiers from the Vale stormed the field. She'd watched from above as he was lost in the sea of men.

Landing, Daenerys pushed against the throngs of wounded and dead being carried back from battle. Faces of men everywhere reaching, looking for comfort.

She pushed past, shrugging off their hands, ignored their calls. By the time she found him, hovering above a scrawled letter, bloodied with mud and sweat matted to his skin, she screamed out in rage and relief, "How could you?!"

"How could I what?" He asked, setting down his quill.

"The field is for the men. We agreed."

"A King cannot ask a solider to fight for him, when he is not willing to fight himself."

"We are fighting."

"I am unharmed."

"Don't ever do that again. I thought you were dead."

He smirked, "And you had the kingdom to yourself?"

"Stop." She looked as if she might either cry or strike him. "Don't ever say that."

"I'm sorry."

Softening, he stood, stroking her silver braided hair, "Sweet woman, I am fine."

"You're covered in blood."

"Not my own."

Reaching for the parchment, he handed it to her.

"What is this?"

"I saw her. She was out there Dany."

Daenerys didn't doubt that Aegon saw Arya, in the face of every dark haired woman that crossed his path. The probability that she had been in the midst of battle was slim. The likelihood she would have survived was none.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Is she…?"

"She's gone. The men have checked the field and outlaying lands."

Skimming over the message, she questioned, "Why the House of Black and White?"

"Only the Faceless Men can find one another."

Dany thought to question what he meant but decided against it. She was tired of talking about Arya and had long since decided that maybe it was best to not ask.

"There are other ways, Aegon. She won't make it on the road. Someone will find her."

"I've send riders in every direction. I've written her brother in the North, weeks past. No word."

She was hardly anything remarkable. Arya was not a great beauty, asset or even pleasing. But for some reason this one woman that had an indescribable hold on both of the men in Daenerys life. There were many days she selfishly wished Arya would die on the road or never return. She was a ghost that haunted them all, present or gone. And for as long as Dany lived, she'd never be rid of her lingering presence.

Taxed after the long day and a month of worrying about Aegon, she candidly questioned, "Should you not consider letting her go, Aegon? You have a wife and soon a child. We are at war. There are more important things at hand."

"No. I won't consider it." He answered flatly. "And if I have to hire a Faceless Man to track her, then I will."

"The Faceless Men are dangerous. They're assassins, not hunting dogs."

"I've offered them three times their price for her return."

Unmovable, once he had set his mind to something there was no convincing Aegon otherwise.

Rubbing at her temples, she ceded, "You won't live without her?"

"No."

Sighing, she took the quill from the table, signing her name next to his on the offer, "I won't live without you. So if this is what we must do, then we will."

Daenerys knew it was wrong, to post the reward, to hire the Faceless Men. No woman, innocent of crime, should be hunted like fowl. But she bent to Aegon as she always would. From the day he'd come to her promising family.

"What will we tell Jon?"

Sealing the letter, he gave her the answer she feared. "Nothing."

He'd object. Jon would refuse to let it happen, snapping the tenuous string holding them together.

"Please, Dany."

At one time they had been close. Trusting each other implicitly. Now, Jon and Aegon seemed to be adversaries, circling each other in cautious suspicion. Pinning her in the middle of their mysterious unspoken war.

"Okay," she promised, knowing she may have sealed an ending for her and Jon if he were to ever discover their secret.

Cementing her inseverable loyalty to Aegon.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They'd lost and been pushed back like leaves in the wind. The air smelled musty with death and decay.

"Please My Lord," he fingers tugged at the hem of his pant. With a gaping wound in his abdomen, Jon had seen enough men die in his life, to know the infliction was fatal.

Bending, he took the young man's hand, "How can I help you?"

"Was it for something, My…" he coughed, spewing blood from his lips, droplets spraying across Jon's chin. "L-lord?" He finished, gasping for what would be his final breaths.

Was it? When he was boy, Ned had told him to never pass a sentence unless you could take the man's life yourself. Did they not sentence this man and others to death? Did he not take this man's life?

"Yes, your sacrifice will mean something," he lied. The words bitter in his mouth, as the man took in a shallow gurgling breath and then drowned in his own fluids.

He didn't even know his name. The young man, practically a boy, had given his life to protect a throne he'd never sit upon. Preserving the honor and legacy of a family that was not his own.

Jon looked up, men lay dying for a far as the eye could see in every direction. Their arms reaching out for comfort. Their screams and moans filling the night. Could he lie to each and everyone and tell them that their lives were not taken in vain? That their cause, the Targaryen cause, was worth this cost?

Hours he spent out there, well into the night, going from man to man. Any who were left alive. Giving whatever comfort he could. He made promises he swore would not become lies.

Jon became a king.

While the other two dragons where nowhere to be found.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Have you been here all along?"

When Jon could stand it no longer, he sought them out, finding Daenerys first.

"Where have you been?" She questioned. Water splashed over the sides of her bath, empting the tub and filling Jon with rage.

"With the men, those who fight save your crown."

With breasts exposed, her nipples hardened in the cold air, "Our crown, Jon."

"No, yours. Not mine. And you, where have you been?"

Sloshing back into the water, she continued scrubbing her skin, "With Aegon."

"Is he injured?"

"No. We've been planning how best to continue. You were nowhere to be found."

Planning news ways to send boys to early death.

"A soldier stays with his men on the field."

"And you are Targaryen, not a soldier."

Should he not be both?

"How is my brother?"

"Tired. He retired to his cups and is now sleeping."

"_In his fur lined bed,"_ Jon thought.

"Come," She motioned for him to bathe with her.

"_Was it for something?"_ he could still hear boy gurgling.

Complying, his stalked to the tub. But instead of undressing, he briskly grabbed Daenerys by the arm and yanked her from the water.

"What are you doing?!" She shrieked.

"Taking you to your men. You won't lead your army from a hot bath while they lay dying in the shallow graves you sent them to."

Daenerys fought, as Jon drug her across the grass covered ground, dropping her beside her discarded clothes.

"I won't follow a heartless queen and I won't be part of a craven family."

Grass clung to her naked body as she looked up at a man who shared her bed the night before.

"You think me to be cold?"

"I think you're spoiled and selfish."

Burning with anger, she spit back at him, "I have fought wars you will never know."

"And let men die without even the slightest acknowledgement."

"I once helped a woman, stopped her from being raped…. I was married then. It's a Dothraki custom, to rape the women when you conquer their city state. I felt sorry them. I stopped it, begged Drogo to forbid the men."

Her anger simmered to a slow burn, "Do you know how she repaid my kindness?"

Jon didn't answer. Stubbornly he refused to show her any sympathy or emotion.

"She killed my child, still in the womb and left my husband silent and stupid."

Rising from the ground, she continued, "I took his life with my own hands. Smothered his last breaths with a pillow to relieve him of the misery, she chained him in."

A cold wind blew through the flaps of the tent, but came off the mother of dragons as steam, "Do you know how the men honored their Khal? They abandoned him. Every soldier that had sworn loyalty to his life, his family, left as soon as he could no longer lead."

She walked back to the tub, sinking beneath the warm water, "I am not selfish, Jon. I am learned. Men prey on weakness. They forget kindness and in the end, know no loyalty. So neither should you, for them."

XXXXXX

Aegon had never considered fatherhood before. In fact, he hadn't bothered to consider anything that involved his new wife in the two months since they had wed. The last time he'd seen Margaery was the morning after their ceremony.

_Wrapped in silk white linens, she looked up him, as he dressed to leave for the River Lands, "You'll be safe?"_

"_I wouldn't worry yourself."_

_Hearing the rustling of bedclothes, he knew she was behind him before she spoke, "Do you regret it?"_

_He was leaving. They'd only just wed and she was carrying his child. Still, he couldn't help but wish when he turned it would be Arya's face looking up at him and not Magarey's._

"_You don't have lie. We can be honest with each other."_

_He cleared his throat, tugging at the laces of his jerkin, but stopped when she touched his shoulder commanding his attention._

"_It's okay. I know you loved her. We don't have to pretend."_

_With a forced charm, he turned and lied, "No. I don't regret it."_

_Naked, she smoothed wrinkles from his appearance and replied, "All I wish to do is please you, My King."_

"_Margaery, please stop calling me that. You know my name."_

"_Aegon, I'm not foolish enough to ever believe there will not be a time when you won't resent me. I only ask that you don't resent our child."_

"_I don't resent you, Margaery." He answered truthfully._

_A soft smile spread across her lips. Taking his hand, she pressed it to her belly and kissed her husband. _

"_Be safe."_

_Then pushing it lower, between her legs, she finished, "I'll be waiting for you when you come back."_

When the Keep was attacked, the three dragons left immediately, flying ahead of the men. Under sedge, half of the Red Keep had fallen, when they arrived, burning every soldier under the Stag banner, on sight.

With fires sprouting up within the walls, the castle was in chaos when Aegon had made his way to the Maiden Vault. He had no notion why his heart was racing. Maybe it was the insult of having another wife violated in the name of Stannis Baratheon or the idea of having the last sure thing in his life slip effortlessly through his fingers.

Beyond whatever regret or feeling of guilt that defined his relationship with Margaery, he had a responsibility to protect his wife and his child.

Bursting through the doors, his impromptu entrance was met with a flurry of screams as the women huddled in the corner.

"Where is she?" He called out, as a hand full of guards rushing forward to protect the ladies of court, until they realized the identity of the perpetrator.

"Aegon?" Her voice was muddled behind the dozen bodies that blocked her from view.

"Margaery."

Pushing her way through the crowd of women, she ran at the sight of him. Clawing at his cloak and jerkin, she kissed his neck then face and lips, "You came."

Taken back at by her outpour of affection, Aegon was unsure how to proceed, "Of course I came. You're unharmed?"

"I'm fine."

He'd done something right. A wave of relief washed over him. He'd been unable to save Arya but had at least succeeded with Margaery.

"Very well then."

Turning to leave, she grabbed his hand, "Please, don't go from me. I've missed you."

There were times when Aegon could not tell if the sweet compliments that came from Margaery's lips were truthful or solely for his benefit.

But when her grip tightened and she whispered, "Please…." He knew she was honest in her desire.

Margaery was right. Aegon would always love Arya. That was something that couldn't be helped. But he knew then, that eventually if he tried, he might be able to find it in himself to care for the wife that so dearly needed his protection and sought nothing else but his love.

XXXXXXX

Peering up at a harsh character sketch of herself, No One smirked and thought, "_The others were far more flattering,_" before tearing it from the nail with Needle.

In the dying light of the evening sun she stood at the edge of the forest and looked out over Storm's End. She'd heard long ago that the citadel was protected by magic from the children of the forest. Looking at the large outer curtain wall and the 150 foot sea side drop into crashing waves, she tried to imagine Argilac the Arrogant being stupid enough to leave a fortress so impressive. Armies had tried to penetrate the citadel and failed. Now, without a plan, she'd do it alone.

Riding in on a pelt wagon, No One spent two days infiltrating the Castle grounds. Keeping herself hidden in dark musty places that even the rats would not dare to inhabit. On the last of the second day, she'd formulated her plan and waited for darkness to fall before she moved from her space under a rotted board in the kitchen cellar.

"Are you ready?"

"I want the coppers first, Lady." Holding out is dirty hand, the blind baker's son waited for payment for the service he'd yet to perform.

Placing her last two dragons in his palm, she led the boy from the kitchen's heat, scurrying through the long dark halls of the citadel.

"You will not make a sound, no matter what happens. You understand?"

"I'm blind woman, not deaf." Twelve, the boy was small for his age. Approximately the size she remembered Rickon to be last.

"Stay here. I'll fetch you when I'm ready."

Hiding the boy behind a large Baratheon tapestry, she rounded the corner and crept toward the guard. Half asleep, his head slumped against the wall, his body slack in the chair. He never heard her coming. Covering his mouth, she passed the blade through the soft flesh between his upper ribs, piercing the heart as his eyes snapped open.

Catching the body as it fell right, she carefully propped him back against the chair, making it look as if he were still in dream.

Slipping into the room, she found him curled in a ball, face buried in bed clothes.

"Rickon. Rickon, wake up." She whispered, covering his mouth.

Stirring, his eyes grew wide with shock when he woke to find his prorefugee sister.

"Arya!" He exclaimed, muffled beneath her fingers.

"Shh... yes it's me. Quiet. I want you to listen."

Nodding his head, she removed her hand, continuing, "I'm going to get you out of here. But I need you to do exactly as I say. You understand?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Dress yourself quickly. Take only what you can carry. I'll be back in a moment."

Leaving briefly, Arya returned with the baker's boy at her side.

"I want you to lie down and sleep here tonight," she instructed as she led the boy to the soft bed.

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing else. If anyone should find you, tell them you were threatened and made to stay here."

"And if they ask me by whom?"

Arya smirked, "Tell them you didn't see."

Grabbing Rickon by the arm, she latched the door behind them as she led him back down the dark winding hall.

"Where's Sansa?"

Looking down at the floor, the boy sheepishly pointed south, "She stays down there... with Lord Baelish."

"Baelish?"

"I tried to help her, Arya! I swear! I told her I'd kill him for her but she told me no. She-"

"Shh..." Covering his mouth again, she answered, "I'm sure you did. There is another way you can help Sansa now. I want you to listen carefully."

"Anything!" The boy whined.

"I'm going to lead you to the wall. Beyond the wall, I want you to run to the forest. On the first tree you see there will be white piece of cloth, hanging on a nail. Once you find that tree head away from the sea and there will be another tree not far from it, with another piece of white cloth. Keep following the marked trees, away from the water and eventually you will find a horse. Once you've found the horse, I want you to hide in the bushes nearby and stay there."

"What if someone comes?"

"Then you get on that horse and you ride north."

"What about Sansa and Cat?!"

"Quiet boy. Don't worry about us. If you're found, leave. We'll find you."

Without further protest, she led Rickon down through the kitchen, out onto the grounds, to the gates.  
"Remember what I said Rickon?"

"Yes."

As No One watched him run into the woods, she breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to whatever horrors still awaited.

It took Arya close to an hour to find her way back to the corridor that led to Sansa's solar. Suspicious of its unguarded state, she sat in waiting. Deciding what to do next.

"It's now or never."

Stepping forward, she was ready to storm the door and fight whatever adversary may lie hidden inside, when she stopped, seeing Petyr Baelish.

"_What the hell is Littlefinger doing at Storm's End?"_ No One thought, for not the first time that evening.

When he disappeared down the hall, Arya quickly slipped inside the room. Finding Sansa rocking Cat by the fire.

"Arya?!" The child went slack in her arms. "Is it really you?" She exclaimed.

"Yes, dress yourself. We're leaving here."

"Rickon..."

"I've already taken care of him. Hurry, we haven't much time." Just then she heard the hallow sounds of footsteps near the door.

With her finger against her lips, she warned Sansa to appear normal as she hid behind a heavy window treatment.

"My love, is it not time for the child to sleep?"

Behind the thick fabric No One couldn't see what happened next but unfortunately was forced to listen.

"I've received word. Stannis has defeated the King's forces in the River Lands and soon marches south to the King's Landing. Your husband will not be marching with the Stannis's men."

There was a low intake of breath from Sansa as Petyr rushed on, "He's dead. Lost in the battle of the Red Fork."

There was a short pause in which Sansa had no reaction.

"Are you happy, My Love?"

"Why would I be happy?"

The cheer from Baelish's voice dissipated as he snapped, "Because we can be together now, Cat. Stannis Baratheon has named me Lord Protector and intends to name me Lord of Storm's End when he takes the throne."

Arya could have sworn the voice that answered was not Sansa's but her mother's, "You will not be Lord of Storm's End. You are not a Baratheon and Gendry has heirs."

Petyr laughed, "Clever, your spirit does excite me so, Cat."

"Cat?" Arya questioned.

"Irrelevant after we marry."

The baby mewled as the she was set in her bassinet.

"I will not wed you, Petyr."

"_How had Storm's End fallen to such chaos in a short year?" _Arya thought. Petyr Baelish was a snake, to be sure. But how had he managed to sway Stannis Baratheon's influence enough to usurp the Baratheon Bannermen and force Sansa to do anything? Was there no loyalty left in the Storm Land's to their true Lord and his family?

Arya need not be able to see, to understand what happened next. There was a sharp hissing noise, as Petyr reached out and grabbed Sansa by the hair. Forcing her to the ground in front of him, he retorted, "Have you forgotten our agreement? Does the boy mean so little to you now? Mayhaps I should send the guard to ready him for his journey?"

"No!"

"Then you accept?"

"Yes," she answered, weakly.

"Good girl. Oh Cat, why must you always force me to be so ugly?"

"I don't know," she responded flatly.

"Would you like to make it up to me?" There was no response, as the room was filled with the rustling of clothing.

"Take it in your mouth, dear. Yes, just like I showed you..."

Hearing enough, No One withdrew Needle to carve Littlefinger's prick from his body when there was a sharp knock on the door.

"One moment!" Pulling up his britches, Petyr called out, "Come in."

"Lord Baelish, come quick. The guard outside the boy's room is dead."

"What have you done?" Petyr accused, turning to Sansa, still resting on her knees.

"Nothing. I have been here the entire evening."

"The boy is still asleep, My Lord."

Letting out a heavy sigh, Baelish turned to Sansa, "I'll be back momentarily. Don't move."

When the door shut behind him, No One burst from hiding.

"Get your things."

Struggling to rise, she avoided eye contact in shame as she pulled on her gown. No One reached into the bassinet and grabbed the sleeping child. Pulling sheets from the bed, she wrapped Cat tightly in the mass of white cotton.

"We must go, now."

With her gown still unlaced, Sansa ran from the room with nothing but her sister and child. Out in the long dark corridor, they turned a series of corners, descending to the ground floor when they were met with the heavy sound of footsteps and someone yelling, "They're gone! Guards! Search everywhere!"

In every direction, echoing throughout the hallow stone halls; bodies seemed to be moving in their direction.

"Arya what do we do?!"

They were trapped. With only two ways out, both were soon to be blocked. Had No One been alone, she would have fought her way to ground or attempted to run. However, past eight months gone, Sansa was round enough that running was near impossible.

Whirling, Arya threw open the windows behind them. Ocean. It was a straight shot down, but 150 feet. Taught to swim as children in Winterfell, there was a chance the sisters, if surviving the drop, would be able to make it shore. With the baby however, it was impossible.

"Do you trust me?"

Terrified, Sansa looked down to the water crashing against the rocks, then to the sound of nearing company.

When she'd dreamed of being saved from this hell, she imagined Bran coming with Northern Bannermen or Arya with a Targaryen army at her back. Not her little sister alone, without help.

Who was this woman?

"Yes."

"Then do as I say without question."

Making a hasty sling, No One tied a knot at the top of the white cotton and climbed out onto the ledge.

"No! Give her to me. Don't take Cat."

"Quiet," No One hissed. "I swear the child will live." Motioning for Sansa to follow her onto the ledge, she pointed to the ocean bellowed, "As soon as you hit the water, start kicking. Get away from the wall. If the tide comes in too fast, it will crush you."

"Arya?" Finally making eye contact, tears spilled over her sister's cheeks.

"Go!" As the shouts of men grew louder, Sansa took one last look at her sister and Cat before she jumped to the water below.

Clutching the child tight to her chest, No One shut the window behind her and crawled along the ledge. Not 15 feet away, she rose on her toes and looped the bundle over the staff that held the Baratheon banner. Resting the child, dangling, against the castle wall.

"Don't die, Cat." She prayed, taking one last look at the sleeping child before she jumped.

Entering the water, felt like hitting a stone wall. Salt water filled No One's nose and throat, burning her eyes as she burst to the surface only to be pushed back by the strong current. Slamming into the rocky cliff, she gasped for air as she was drug under by another wave.

Finally, after a great deal of effort, she was able to swim from the rocks.

"Arya!"

Yards away, Sansa struggled to keep her head above water. Swimming to her aid, she barked, "Shed your dress!"

"Where's Cat?!"

Reaching her side, No One ripped at the heavy material, discarding it as dress washed away, leaving Sansa in only her shift.

"Hurry. Let's make it to shore before they discover we've jumped."

Minutes later, both women gasped as they crawled onto the rocky beach.

Panting, Arya pointed in the direction of the woods, "Keep going. Don't stop."

"Where are the children?!"

"Do as I tell you." No One snapped. "Rickon is waiting. I'll find you before the sun is up."

Shaking, Sansa chattered, "Where are you going?"

"To get Cat. If I don't find you before morning leave without me."

"And go where?"

Arya left without responding because she didn't have an answer.

XXX

"They march, over a hundred thousand strong, My King."

"They will be here within a matter of a month," Varys comment.

Sitting around a large wooden table, in the partially destroyed Keep, the three dragons and council had yet to discover a way to stop Stannis Baratheon's mounting forces.

Turning to Daenerys, Aegon swallowed his pride. She'd been right. "We need the Iron Islands."

"Asha does not respond to my messages."

"Then Stannis has gotten her too?" Jon questioned.

"I don't know."

Daenerys hadn't spoken to Asha in close to a year. Any ravens she'd sent to the Iron Islands had gone unanswered.

"We'll send men," Aegon suggested.

"No. I'll go." She offered. "She'll listen to me."

Concerned, Aegon questioned, "Is it safe? You should not go alone."

Daenerys looked to Jon; they'd shared a bed, but hardly spoken for over a week. Even now, if he was concerned for her safety he made no effort to show it.

"I must. She'll listen if I go unarmed."

"No!" Aegon interjected.

"Aegon, please, I know Asha. If I come with men, she'll be defensive. She won't listen. If I go alone, she will."

"Then it's settled?" Varys plotted.

"We will discuss this further at a later time." Aegon concluded.

"Should we send word to the Northern King?"

"No. He won't come. Brandon Stark is still under sedge from the Bolton rebellion."

Jon gulped back guilt. Bran struggled to keep control in the north. Surrounded by enemies and turn cloaks while he'd stayed south, fighting a war with another family.

"There's only one way to stop his army." Aegon offered emotionlessly.

Outnumbered now, two to one, the Targaryen dragons could only fight an enemy they knew. But with over half of Westeros joining Stannis's effort, their fortress in ruins and attacked from every direction, the House Targaryen needed more than the fear of dragons.

"The Lannisters." Varys suggested, "I understand that they may be an unlikely ally, however…."

"They're poison." Jon finally spoke. "Never trust a Lannister." With both Stark and Targaryen blood on their hands, the Lannisters were no friend to Jon.

After taking the Seven, there was much debate between both Dany and Aegon as to whether they should consider taking the King Slayer's head. Forming a relationship with Tyrion Lannister, briefly while across the Narrow Sea, Aegon knew there was no love lost between the Imp and his sister. The little man did hold certain affections for his turn cloak brother. As the wealthiest house of the Seven, Aegon was willing to forgive past grievances for the possibility of loyalty.

Daenerys and Jon held no such similar desires.

"We will go to the Lannisters. However, the lions are not our immediate solution."

Standing he pointed to the River Lands.

"Jon, you will go to the Lannisters. You will seek out their intentions."

"The Others take the Lannisters! I'll have nothing to do with them."

Looking to the council, Aegon requested, "Leave us. We need a moment. Varys, you stay."

After the men exited the room, Aegon finished, "Would you rather hold your pride and let the realm fall to a man like Stannis Baratheon? A man capable of the things he's done?" Aegon need not elaborate further in their small company for by the tone of his voice and the look in his eye, Jon felt instant shame radiate throughout his body.

Aegon knew what had happened in that camp. He may not know of his own violation, but he was aware of Arya's. Did he blame him for not saving her? Did he think him the failure that Jon felt he was, becasue he was powerless to stop it?

"No."

"Then you will go to the Lannisters."

Unsure what had passed just then between Jon and Aegon, Daenerys looked at the pair and then offered, "No, let me go. I'll stop before the Iron Islands."

"We have not agreed to that yet, Dany. And besides, I have other plans for us."

Aegon prepared himself for the argument that was soon to follow. Daenerys would agree. She was always able to see the larger picture and stomach the unplesantries that came with power. Jon couldn't. He was too attached to the phantom honor Eddark Stark had cursed him with.

"We're going smoke them out." He rested his finger on the God's Eye and trailed it north to the Twins, "And burn ever square inch of land where they may try to hide."

"Your Grace, the displaced population will be monumental." Varys cut in.

Horrified, Jon objected, "Those are homes and people. You won't just kill his army. You'll wipe out villages!"

"Villagers, who have helped him, supported his army."

"Under distress, Aegon! You can't do this." As Jon and Aegon squared for battle, Daenerys stood silent as she always did. But Aegon didn't worry. If nothing else, he could always count of Dany to rally to his cause.

With no room left in his heart for sympathy, he answered, "That's the price of Victory. When Aegon the Conquer won Westeros he had to get his hands dirty."

XXXXXX

As the sun peaked over the horizon, Sansa shivered beneath the thorny bush that hid both her and Rickon.

"We must leave soon."

Worried, she'd laid there for hours, comforting Rickon in dark. Promising him, that Arya would find Cat. That she'd come back to them. That they had a plan.

But they didn't and with each minute that passed she felt herself more immobilized with the fear of certain possibilities. What if they didn't make it? What if Petyr had caught them? What if they were dead?  
No. She wouldn't allow herself to think those thoughts.

Arya had said leave at first light. But she couldn't. They'd wait just a while longer. With Rickon curled against her, fast asleep, she kissed his head and said her thousandth prayer for the night_: Protect them. Bring my child back to me. Save Arya._

When there was a rustling of leaves ahead on the trail, Sansa tensed.

What if they had been discovered?!

"Sansa?"

"Rickon, they're here. Wake up."

Scrambling from beneath the bush, she ran to Arya.

Bleeding from her hands and a cut on her face, she stumbled forward, holding out the white bundle in one hand and the reins to a horse in the other.

Snatching Cat from her arms, she looked down at her sleeping child and began to cry, "You made it. She's safe."

Rickon latched onto Sansa's leg, leaving No One to watch the reunion of a happy family.

"Are you okay?" Through a stream of tears, Sansa registered that Arya was injured.

"I'm fine. Here," holding out a shabby patched dress, she ordered, "Dress yourself. They'll be after us soon."

"Where will we go?"

"I don't know. Away from here." No One answered.

XXXX

Light flicked in the background. Squinting, he finally made out a face.

"You're awake."

A man leaned over, Gendry, applying water to his lips.

"You've been asleep for weeks."

Trying to sit up, a wave of pain shot through his body.

"Easy now. The Milk of Poppy I gave you is losing its hold. You're going to feel a great deal of discomfort."

Looking down, heavy bandages covered his body.

"Where am I?"

"Saved. That's all you need know." The mysterious man answered.

XXXXXXXX

**Okay there you have it. I know I didn't kill Baelish, but I had good reason. Believe me, he won't just be slinking away silently. I have the whole weekend off. House sitting with a bottle of wine so I'm sure that will inspire another chapter sooner, rather than later. Maybe two. **

**But hey… review. Do it. Otherwise I don't know if I've lost you, need to make changes or just abandon it. Thanks!**


	26. Where We Find Innocence

**For some reason this chapter and the next that I've started were ridiculously hard for me to write. For everyone who has asked, I'm considering doing two endings only because I can see this story going two different ways. Although that's a lot of work so I'm not a 100%.**

**To answer questions and comments that I really haven't addressed from previous chapters, all of these characters at some point in time are a little OOC. I try to stay somewhat true to the cannon but honestly If I always stuck to the cannon character versions, of Arya especially, the story would read as follows: Aegon pissed Arya off. He died. End of story. Making for a validating, although very short story. **

**I'm sorry for readers that are displeased with any character portrayals. This is only an interpretation. To each reader and writer their own, which is precisely the reason I don't own these characters, along with a million other legal ones. **

**And that is all I'm saying on the matter. Although I do respect everyone's opinions which have spurn some deep thinking on the matter. **

* * *

**Jon and Dany**

"Can you not even say goodbye?"

Preparing Rhaegal for the journey, he did not turn to look at her. Weeks since he'd shared her bed and even longer since a sincere word had passed between them.

He stopped finally, answering, "Goodbye Daenerys."

The words cut like a knife. She was the queen of the Westeros. The mother of Dragons, her beauty could seduce any man from Qarth to The Wall and yet she would never have him, not the way she wanted. He looked at her as if he were disappointed. She had ruined his fantasy of righteousness that night in her tent.

"I'm only trying to protect you, Jon. I know you think me cruel, but I'm not. I only mean to tell you the truth so you don't have to learn as I did."

"I'm not a child Dany. I was Lord Commander of the Wall. I'm well versed in the depths of man."

"Then you know that the honor that you speak of isn't real."

He'd argued with Aegon well into the night. Shouting that could be heard throughout the Keep. Aegon had called him a silly fool; a boy, still holding on to naïve notions of what a dead Eddark Stark would want.

(Flashback)

_Jon withdrew a piece of paper wrinkled and dirty, a rough sketch of Arya's face and description stared up at Aegon from the table._

"_And what would our father say? How would he feel about a man hunting a woman that no longer wants him?"_

"_Our father knew love."_

"_He also knew adultery."_

"_We will burn the River Lands and I will not discuss it further."_

"_The king, are you? Is this the King that Jon Connington raised? Was this the man he wanted you to be? Because I can tell you, this is not the man Eddark Stark wished I'd become." _

"No, that's your first mistake. There's still good in this world. There is still goodness in men. Honor is not something to laugh at. It's not a weakness. It's the only strength we have left, the only thing that separates us from Stannis Baratheon. That's why we fight. That is why those boys died in the River Lands. Not for us. Not because they feared the dragons. But because they thought they fought for something more."

"It's not so simple Jon."

"No, it is and when it stops being, that's when we start lying to them and to ourselves."

"Then why do you go?"

"Because I still believe he can be that. He's a better man than Stannis Baratheon. He's better than what he's been. You're better than this. You only need someone to keep reminding you."

Jon had the ability to make both Aegon and Daenerys; the most powerful man and woman in Westeros, feel like they were still children, being scolded.

"I need to go." Walking over, he quickly embraced her, "Be safe," he finished, releasing her as she'd always feared.

* * *

**Arya**

Her body shook uncontrollably.

"No."

Nails scrapped through dirt and grass, clawing at anything in reach.

"No! I'll kill you!"

Her muscles locked in excreting tension- her body trashing wildly.

(Arya's dream)

_Sweat drips down on her face. The room smells of blood._

"_Yes." He grunts._

"_No!" Arya screams. Her arms clubbing the air, her legs kick. _

_Nothing. Something is holding her._

"_Hold still," Sour breath on her face._

_Rough hands pinch her breasts. A sharp pain keeps growing to an unbearable level._

"_Oh, yes." He groans. She's being ripped in two. _

_Where is Jon? He can't come. He's in pain. I'm in pain. _

_Blood. _

_Men watch, snickering amongst themselves._

"_Yes." He moans louder._

"_No!" She screams, but nothing comes out._

_Drip. Sweat drops on her face._

_He cries out, his hips slamming against her. Ripping. The motion stops._

_A hand in her hair. Wiping, wiping something foul smelling in her hair._

_He's gone. Another comes, pushing his britches down, leering down as he thrusts inside her._

"_STOP!"_

Something grabs her hard, shaking her. Eyes snapping open, No One grabbed for her blade, quick as a blink.

"Arya?" Its dark but she can see the whites of his eyes- wide. Rickon swallowed hard and looked as if he might yell or start crying as she continued to hold her blade to his neck.

"You were having a dream." He whispered.

"What are you doing?" Waking, Sansa looked at No One, horrified.

"Don't touch me when I sleep."

"I only wished to wake you," his voice shook with fear that he tried to conceal.

As she dropped her blade, No One knew she should apologize. She should make amends for scaring the boy. But she was embarrassed. They looked at her as if she were a stranger, something wild and dangerous.

"Time to get up," she barked.

"It's still dark." Rickon whined.

Looking up at the moon, fading in the sky, No One answered, "And if we do not move, they'll find us before the sun rises."

They'd been on the road for five days, running from Baelish who was hot on their trail and eyes searching for a reward.

Originally No One had planned to steal coin for passage across the Narrow Sea. But each time they approached the coast they were pushed back by those that hunted them and troops. All of Westeros was in upheaval. Men marched from the furthest southern lands, to King's Landing. Roads were littered with soldiers from Dorne, the Reach - as far south as Old Town.

They were fugitives, wanted by the crown, Stannis's men and Baelish. They had no choice but to keep moving west, away from Stannis, further from the Targaryens and their allies.

What was their plan? North, with Gendry dead, she'd take Sansa and the children north to Bran. How? She didn't know yet. It would be impossible to make it through the Neck. There would have to be another way.

"Are you ready?"

Partially hidden in the bush, Sansa moved slower than ever the past few days and No One worried. Avoiding roads and towns, she'd eventually have to board them somewhere. She'd have to find a midwife or Maester, for her sister's time was close.

Rickon waited by the horses, with Cat squirming in his arms babbling, "No! No!" At close to a year, No One still thought of her niece as a baby. But the little girl, with ruddy curls and blue eyes like her father, was beginning to speak and slowly take her first steps.

"Sansa." No One called, following in her into the brush.

"We need to go, soo-" She stopped when she found her Sansa wiping blood on her skirts.

"Are you hurt? Where are you bleeding?"

"It's only spots. I'm fine."

"Is this normal?" Sansa had not complained once of their journey, although No One knew she must be unbearably uncomfortable at this dogged pace. Her feet were swollen, her shoulders hunched in pain.

"I don't know. It's been like this for a few days."

No One looked off into the forest. They were past Fawnton and leaving the Kingswood. They were maybe a few days ride from Tumbleton. If they pushed all day and into the night, slept only a few hours, possibly they could make it in two- three days time.

"Clean yourself. We leave immediately."

"Arya," she grabbed her sister's hand, "I dream sometimes too." Sansa squeezed her fingers, "its okay… to be scared."

"I'm not," No One dropped her hand and walked away.

She hardly ever spoke while they were on the road, past giving direction. The more Sansa and Rickon tried to reach out, the further she recoiled into herself. Before they'd sleep, Rickon whispered to Sansa in the dark, "Does she hate us?"

"No, sweet boy, she doesn't hate us."

She'd sought distance especially at night. While the small family would huddle together in a makeshift shelter, dreaming of safety, she'd hover on the outskirts of their little camp. Staying awake, keeping watch well into the night, Sansa wondered as they saddled the horses if she ever slept.

She wondered where Arya had gone and who this was that had stolen life from her sister's eyes.

* * *

**Jon and Tyrion**

Last time he had seen Jon Snow he was fourteen and still a bastard. Now at six and twenty he was tall and strong. With a short dark beard and steely grey eyes he looked more northern than even Ned Stark but his face, only slightly changed from the kind boy, who marched to lonely Wall, years previous.

"Prince Targaryen, it's so nice to see you again."

"Jon. You know my name."

"Jon, how may I be of assistance to you?"

They could have waited for the King Slayer but Jamie was noticeably absent from their meeting for a reason. Offering him a seat, Jon denied his hospitality, choosing instead to stand.

"You need not tower for me to feel your presence, My Lord."

He was uneasy to make himself familiar. Most of his family slaughtered or threatened by the House Lannister, he would not be so easily swayed by money, men or desperation as his brother.

"I need not hear your pleasantries to forget the past."

The Imp smiled, the keen boy he had met long ago had sharpened into a wise man.

"As you know, Stannis marches from the River Lands to King's Landing."

"What's left of his army? I hear your brother and aunt have burned everything south of the neck."

Jon didn't flinch, he face remained emotionless.

"_Better the enemy you know_…" Jon thought. Aegon's madness had begun to scare the people of Westeros. But unlike Stannis, Jon knew somewhere Aegon still felt. That he could possibly be brought back from the brink. Stannis was too far gone to ever feel again. A man that cruel could never find kindness in his heart. He had no need for dragons to terrorize the people of Westeros.

"Will you march with Stannis or align yourself with the King and Queen?"

"Hm, which queen are you speaking of, my Prince?" Tyrion hadn't meant it to be snarky, but none the less; the words were as taunting as any insult.

Pulling back for a moment, his face softened, "I was sorry to hear about your sister. I hope she is found soon."

Jon thought to choose his next words carefully. What game was the Imp playing at? Did he mean to find weakness? Did he know something of Arya?

"If she is found anywhere west of Stony Sept we'll be sure to apprehend her and send word."

He could see a flickering of change in Jon's face as he spoke of the woman. A look favoring one he hadn't seen in years. Similar to his brother when someone spoke of Cersei and a glint of inflection his father had the few times Joanna was ever mentioned.

Strange, Tyrion thought.

"She is not my sister. And I pray to Old gods every night that Lady Stark finds peace."

"Do you not mean Lady Targaryen?"

"Yes, of course."

"I as well. I hope all the Starks find peace again one day."

In truth, Tyrion had long since considered taking up Stannis's cause. Not because he had a certain affinity for the man, but because his victory seemed ever more increasingly inevitable. No longer a child, his interest in dragons had to be set aside for survival.

Damn his father, but Tywin did, at one time, have a knack for prosperity.

Having met Aegon once, years previous across the Narrow Sea, he remembered the bright, studious young man he'd spent time with. The stories that spread from the north reflected none of the things he'd seen in the boy fostered by Jon Connington years ago. This man, king, was just as mad as Aerys and reckless as Rhaegar.

"I remember Arya Stark. Barely, however, she was just a child when you and I left for the Wall from Winterfell. But she was different. Not like all the other little ladies, very special."

"Yes, she was."

"I sense that you two were close."

"And what would leave you with that impression?"

Tyrion may not be many things, but a quick study of character, he was. Jon Snow… now Targaryen, was careful to control his words, his face, even his breathing as he spoke the Stark girl. Too careful, in a way Tyrion had seen once before.

"You remarked on her once, many years ago, when we traveled to that Wall. You didn't talk of the others as you spoke her."

"Enough of Arya," he commanded. Tyrion knew he had hit a nerve.

"Yes, well I wish I could answer your question, Jon, but I must speak with my brother, Lord of Casterly Rock. Our men are sparse since the last war."

"_Excuses, always lies and excuses with a Lannister_." Jon thought.

"If you wish to wait, I'm sure he would be more than happy to speak with you."

"No. I have other business to attend."

"You will not stay?"

"No."

"Then you must allow me to walk with you."

Half heartedly, Jon waited for the small man to rise from his seat and waddle to his side. Escorting him out onto the grounds, the Imp secretly had other motives for his walk than hospitality. Dragons.

Rhaegal sat hunched outside the yard. Not a man or woman coming within twenty feet of the beast.

"It's beautiful," Tyrion almost gasped. The large green scaled creature was the most impressive thing, Tyrion had ever seen in his life. Worthy of every dream he had ever had.

Stopping short with the other on lookers, Jon pressed forward, without him, approaching the dragon.

"Well, you've come this far. Will you not go the rest of the way?" He questioned, turning to Tyrion.

"Is it safe?"

"Yes. He will not harm you, with me here."

Slowly, he crept forward, following the dragon rider until he was less than a foot from the body.

"Don't make any hasty movements." He instructed as he motioned for him to touch the green shinning scales.

Tyrion's hand shook, as his fingers traced the slick, thick patches.

"You're coming with me!" Commotion in the background caught Jon's attention.

An old woman slapped the soldier that seized her arm.

"Let go, I've done nothing wrong." She pleaded.

"Go." He pushed her forward, her knees hitting the dirt. "We've no need for your kind here." Roughly he kicked her, as she crawled on the ground, humiliated in front of the crowd.

"Stop! Stop that!" Jon yelled.

Going to the woman, he stepped between her and the guard.

"What are you doing? Can you not see she is elderly?"

"She's a beggar, your Grace, a vagrant. They aren't allowed within the Rock's walls. She knows this."

"I've come to see the dragon." The old woman mumbled from the ground.

"And so you will." Bending he took her arm.

"My Prince, she is unclean. Do not touch her." The guard warned.

"She is a servant of the seven, a harmless woman, who has done no more wrong than anyone else who has gathered."

Helping her from the ground, he guided her towards the dragon, "Come see for yourself, if you like."

The old woman seemed torn in her resolve, fearing this may be some trick.

"I promise, I won't hurt you, if you wish to see the dragon you may."

Tyrion had been distracted before minutes before, but now he watched the odd pair. A beggar sneaking into the Rock's walls was nothing new. Dozen were purged from the grounds daily.

The old woman, smelling of urine and filth, stood next to Tyrion. Her grimy hands touched the dragon, inches from his own. Her face was a confused mixture of curiosity and awe.

For a moment, Tyrion thought to cover his nose and spare himself her smell but stopped when he saw the Jon's face.

Smiling, Jon placed his hand on top of the elder woman's, "Smoother than what you expected?" He questioned.

"Yes, my Lord." She gasped.

There was no doubt this woman had hardly been shown any attention in her life, much less from anyone important. It was difficult to tell which she was more in shock of, the dragon or the prince.

Dropping her hand, she stammered, "T-thank you, My Prince. I never forget this kindness."

"It's not kindness. It's decency."

Reaching into his pocket he produced a few dragons.

"I'm sorry, it's all I have, My Lady."

The old hag blushed like a flowering maiden at the use of such an inappropriate title.

"Thank you." And lunged forward, taking the coin and kissing his hand.

"Go, have yourself a meal and let someone look at your ailments," motioning to her scraped knees and hands.

As the old woman left, Tyrion forgot the dragon all together.

"We'll follow you. I'll speak to my brother. He'll agree."

Stannis Baratheon was favored to win. He had the men and soon the influence as the young king burned Westerosi homelands. But Stannis didn't heart. He didn't know kindness and he'd never understand that kind of humility.

Tyrion promised Lannister support not to win a war. Not to be forgiven for past misgiving or for the favor of the dragons. It was not for their King or Queen. He promised all that was left to his family name, all that he and Jamie had struggled to save, for Jon. Jon Snow. The bastard he'd traveled to the Wall with. The man that was more a king than any that had sat the throne in the past two hundred years.

* * *

**Shireen**

"Where are you taking me?"

Both men looked at one another and then back to her, unwilling to answer.

For three years she'd been hiding in the North, moving from small village to small village, never knowing anything.

She missed Edric, it had been years but she could still remember his smile and kind words. He always had time for her. He never treated her like she was different, maybe because he was different. They were two misfits. Neither of their father's particularly proud to them.

It had been three years since Shireen had seen her father and the last time had been remarkably brief, even for him. He hardly ever looked her when she was a child, and even less rarely spoke to her. But the last time she saw Stannis Baratheon, he hugged her close, promising she'd be safe, which only lead her to conclude that he may not be.

Leaving her with two men, he swore that when he took the Iron Throne, he'd send for her to come south, to meet him at the Red Keep.

Shireen knew even then, when she was still a shy child that it would never come to pass. She was never going south. She would never see Edric, Patchface or anyone else she loved, ever again.

He may had the best of intentions in mind, leaving her in the care of two men, but Shireen knew then as she knew now, that it was all an illusion. There was no one there to protect her, no one to trust, only herself.

So when the two men that claimed to love her father, sold her to Ramsay Bolton as soon as Stannis passed south of the Neck, Shireen didn't waste her thoughts on hopes. She wasn't naïve enough to believe that her father would come back for her.

She only wondered what she should do now.

* * *

**Sansa and Arya**

It had begun so quickly that there was no time to plan. They were still a day outside of Tumbleton. They'd never make it now. After sundown, Sansa's stoic face was bathed agony as she begged for them to break.

Leading the horses into the only cluster of trees she could find. No One had no notion of what to expect next as Sansa squatted against the nearest tree, clutching her abdomen.

"Can you not wait?" It was a stupid question, she knew as soon as it slipped out of her mouth. Sweat had begun to gather on Sansa's forehead as she looked up at her sister, her eyes hooded in pain.

"Rickon, give Cat to Arya. And go find water."

"Water? What is the water for?" No One questioned.

"It's not far, Rickon. Can you hear it?"

"Yes."

"Then, go love. Do it quickly and be careful."

Awkwardly gathering the squirming child in her arms, No One nervously questioned, "What do you mean to do?"

Grunting, Sansa began tearing at the hem of her skirt.

"Have this child."

"Here?! No, not here. Wait till we reach Tumbleton. I'll find you a Maester."

"We won't have time. Come."

"Should we not wait for Rickon?"

Oh gods, what had she gotten herself into? No One was a warrior, an assassin. Good with a knife. Not a midwife. Not a Maester. She knew nothing of babies. She'd likely do more harm than good.

"Rickon is only a child. I need you," Sansa gritted between her teeth as a new wave of pain seemed to come over her.

Summoning her courage, No One shamed herself. She had seen much worse. How bad could this possibly be?

"What do you need?"

"Help me with my small clothes. My hands…" Her voice was still and calm but her hands were shaking like leaves.

"Okay," reaching under her sister's skirts she pulled at the thin cotton, drawing it from her legs.

Blood, everything was covered in blood.

"Sansa." She held them up to the moonlight.

"It's okay. More will come."

Sitting on the ground nearby, the child squealed and cried out, as Sansa took in another sharp, hissing breath.

"I've got it. Here's the water." Stumbling back, Rickon held out the small pail to the women.

"Thank you dear. Now, will you take Cat for me? Take her just beyond those trees." She pointed not fifteen feet from them. "Lay down with her and try to sleep."

"Are we staying?"

"Yes, for a short while. Go, get some sleep. We'll need you to protect us tomorrow."

Rickon puffed his chest out, looking so much like Robb that it was almost scary.

"Yes My Lady."

What was to happen next, Arya and No One would never forget. She had seen a few farm animals born before, but never a human child. Naturally she expected it to be the same.

After two hours of hard labor, No One was sure the night was never going to end. Sweat had soaked through Sansa's shift and outer dress, causing the cotton to cling to her as if it were part of her actual skin.

Dabbing her forehead with a cloth, Sansa grabbed No One's hand, squeezing it tight, without making a single noise. "I'm close," She finally whispered. "I can feel it, the head- its close."

No One felt nauseous. Her head was spinning. "What should I do?"

"Go. Down between my legs."

Obeying, No One lifted up her skirts, eyes wide at what she found. Her sister was swollen and expanding. "Sansa..."

"It's okay," she panted, it will be over soon. I need you to put your hands down there and wait.

"Wait for what?!" She asked panicked.

"For it come." Grabbing onto the roots of the tree that poked through the grass, she pushed herself up against the trunk, digging her heals into the hard dirt ground.

"Okay," No One answered, unsure what else to say. She'd never been religious. Had told Jon she prayed to no god. But as Sansa bore down, her face red, a pained low and long cry escaping from between her teeth, No One prayed as hard as she ever had.

_Save Sansa. Save my sister. Get me through this. Save this child. Don't let me fail them._

As she continued to push, the helpless cries escaping from her were so soft, she sounded like a kitten. Even now, so controlled her sister was; careful to not disturb Cat and Rickon, as she was torn in two.

"I can see it," her words were both of shock and joy, "the head."

As the wet thing began to emerge, No One cradled it.

Quick, sharp breaths punctured the air as Sansa bore down one last time; pushing the child from her womb and into No One's waiting hands. With dark hair and wrinkled features, the little boy was covered in white goo.

"It's a boy," she cried out, breathlessly. "A boy, Sansa. You have a boy."

Falling back against the tree in exhaustion, she smiled. "Wrap him in the rags and wipe his nose and mouth."

The baby lay eerily quiet until No One obliged, clearing the white slim from the baby's noise and mouth. Then wiping his eyes as the child let out a high picked scream. No One knew not what came over her, but for a moment she felt tears well in her eyes.

"Give him to me."Hardening herself, she handed the child to her sister and quickly wiped the water before it fell.

"Oh, such a sweet boy," Sansa whispered, cradling the child close to her chest. "So much like your father."

For the first time, in a long time, Arya (not No One) felt the sharpness of guilt with the mention of Gendry, the man that had wed her sister and gave her such an innocent child. Pushing it away, as she did all things, she questioned, "What will you name him?"

"Robert, for his grandfather and uncle."

"That's a fine name. He's beautiful."

Looking past her child, she reached for No One's hand, taking it, "Thank you, Arya. Now gather the children. Bring them here to sleep. I don't like them so far."

As the two children curled themselves around the tree and their mother, No One watched, stricken with sadness. There was a family; such a loving warm, family. "Maybe someday you'll still meet your papa," Sansa whispered amongst the sleeping children. "He may still be alive," she said this time to herself, rocking the baby in her arms. "I pray to Gods every day that he may still be alive and see you soon."

Arya choked on guilt and hate. Deep, dark, endless hate that felt like it would never subside.

"Will you not sleep with us?" She called out to Arya, hovering in the distance. "It's late. You need your rest."

"No." She walked further till she was almost in the clearing. "I'll keep watch."

"They're your family too." Sansa said so softly No One almost thought she imagined it.

But they weren't. No matter how much she wanted them to be. The things that No One had done, the person she needed to be, had no family.

"Sleep and I'll wake you in the morning."

* * *

**Arya**

Weeks they traveled. Maddening in their pace. They had tried to stay away from roads, but everywhere seemed to be a road these days. The country side was littered with people the further north they moved. People like those Arya had seen in the River Lands. Scared, broken and lost.

Whispers amongst them, curses of the dragons that burned their homes and families, the misery was inescapable. The displaced tented and camped around the Blackwater Rush.

"Look at them." Sansa mourned for them as if their lives were hers. "They're everywhere."

Leading them through throngs of people, No One kept her focus straight ahead, not daring to look into the eyes of lost children.

Few had horses like them, causing a stir as they passed the makeshift camps. Children ran to them, much as they did to her, in the River Lands, months before.

"Please Miss. Help us, My Lady." Their little hands flung up grabbing at Sansa's leg.

Rickon reached into their saddle bag behind Sansa, handing out what little bread they had.

"No," yelling out, No One stopped him. "Don't, they'll overwhelm us."

But it was too late. With the sight of food, the children rush at them in a mob.

"Please. Please!" They cried out, gathering so thick that horses were forced to halt.

"Arya, we must." Tears pooled in Sansa's eyes as she reached for their hands holding them.

"They're orphans; we can't leave them here with no one to care for them." Holding Robb close to her chest, she slid from her horse, followed by Rickon.

"Get back on your horse!" But they didn't listen. Slowly she moved through the mass of children, holding those that clung to her.

"Listen to me, damn it!" Shifting Cat in her arms, No One hit the ground and grabbed both reins in her hand, following Sansa.

"We must do something." Sansa demanded.

Looking into the faces of dozens of scared, dirty children, No One could feel herself slipping further into Arya. And Arya was a fool. She was weak and wouldn't be able to properly protect Sansa and the children. They needed to keep moving. No One had spotted soldiers not hours before. Seen her face plastered on the side of a tree not a day past.

They weren't safe here. They were safe nowhere.

"There's nothing we can do. We can't take them with us."

"Please," Rickon begged, patting the back of a little girl who clutched his tunic.

"There are too many."

"We must do something." Tears rolled, softly from Sansa's cheeks.

"_As someone should have done for us?"_ Arya thought.

Moving through their eager grasp, she clutched Sansa with her free hand, "We aren't safe here. It's these children or yours. If we say here, if we help, we'll be found."

Sansa touched Cat's soft curls, kissed Robb's head.

"What would Gendry want you to do?" No One asked. His name was bitter on her tongue. But it struck a chord. Taking Rickon's hand Sansa pulled him in closer.

"We can't leave them Sansa."

Leaning in she whispered in his ear, "We must. We must protect Cat and Robb, right?"

A fat tear rolled down Rickon's face, that he made no effort to hide, as the children huddled against them.

"Yes." As they moved back towards the horses and remounted the children grabbed at their legs attempting to pull them back.

"Don't leave us! Please! Help! We're hungry!" They cried, as did Rickon and Sansa- Robb and Cat.

"I'm sorry dears," Sansa wept, reaching for their hands one more time. "I'm so sorry."

Arya, not No One, could feel something ripping at her, the same as the others until she saw him. Standing in the distance, amongst other the dirty scattered children he looked like a giant. Any glimmer of sympathy that had been there moments before, was gone. Picking through the children like a bully, his lecherous hands felt over their bodies, searching for coin or treasure.

"Take the children and ride ahead. There is some coin in my saddle bag. Find a room in the first Inn you see when you enter the Stony Sept." No One held the reins out for Rickon.

"Take the horse, watch after Sansa."

"Arya, how will you get there?"

Smiling for the first time in days, she answered, "Don't worry about me. I always find a way."

"What are you doing? We aren't leaving you."

As Rickon mounted the horse, taking Cat from Arya's arms, No One answered, "I have business. Don't worry. I'll be close behind."

"Arya-"she didn't have time to finish, for No One reached out and slapping the horses hide, urging it forward.

"The first Inn you see, you hear me? Don't use your name."

"Ask for Alayne." She yelled back.

As the horses sped off into the distance, No One stepped forward, "Dunsen!"

The man looked up from the children, searching for the intruder who called his name.

"Here, you stupid fool," she answered.

Locking eyes with her, he smiled, as did she.

"What do you want?"

Drawing her sword, she laughed, "Your head, you ugly craven."

* * *

**Dany**

The air was damp. Dany wasn't sure she had ever felt so chilled before. Everything in the Iron Islands was wet and dripping. She could easily see a place like this being home to Euron Greyjoy who still haunted the shores of the Reach, raping and pillaging at his leisure. But somehow she didn't see Asha here, not the Asha she'd known.

"She'll be with you shortly," the gnarled, hunched man promised from his toothless mouth.

"Thank you." Staring up at the large octopus that was carved to curl around mantel and up the Wall, Dany wondered what life a girl could have possibly had in this place.

"Your majesty," pulling a blade from her belt and one from her boot, she threw them both on the long table that sat in middle of the hall. Reaching for a cloth on the table, she wiped black grime from her hands.

"You're far from home."

"Asha…." Although her hands were dirty, the rest of her appearance was surprisingly neat and orderly. Her hair wet, either from the air or signs of a fresh bath. Dany felt a strange feeling of familiarity come over her.

"How can I help you, Queen Daenerys?" There was something biting in her tone, undeniably unwelcoming, even insulting. But still Dany thought she might strangely be one of the most beautiful women she had ever met for this very reason.

"You've not answered my letters."

Tossing the cloth, her hands rested on her hips, "I've been busy."

"Helping your uncle rape the Reach's shorelines?"

Almost snorting, Asha answered, "Euron is slime. No, thankfully he has more sense than to try to darken the halls of Pyke."

"And your husband, Erik?" Dany asked casually, striking a nerve. It had come as a slight shock when she'd heard months before that Euron had arranged a supposed marriage to Asha with the decrepit old man, long after she'd been sold to Stannis Baratheon.

"Dead, funny how old men just fall into sleep and never wake."

"And you're other?" Dany had no notion why she was suddenly being so ugly. This wasn't how she had intended for things to be. She was to come here and diplomatically sway Asha to her side. Jon probably assumed with words, Aegon urged with her cunt if need be. But Dany had hoped with their bond.

"Being burned in the River Lands by your pet nephew, the one they call the Mad King," she replied, striking a nerve of her own with Dany.

"So you won't join him?"

Asha smiled, not from joy or even amusement, "So that's why you've come? The little king couldn't do it himself. Was he worried I'd slit his throat?"

"I asked to come."

"Martyr? Doesn't suit you."

"I came because we made you a promise."

"That now you intend to uphold?"

Dany faltered, preparing herself to lie if need be.

"You always were a terrible liar. You're every emotion always on your face."

"Then Stannis Baratheon has offered you freedom?"

"Stannis would offer the sun and the moon if he thought it would win him the Iron Throne."

"But you will not join him?"

"Did I say that? He is a fool to be sure."

"Then what are you telling me?"

"How is your other nephew? Jon, is that his name?"

She watched as Daenerys stiffened, trying to hid her obvious attachment.

"So the rumors are true?"

"Asha please…"

"Did you forget what I told you?"

It was like rubbing salt in a fresh wound. Jon: things that would never be hers.

"You're hurt, little dragon, aren't you?" Asha didn't mean it to be condescending, but that is exactly how it sounded.

"I'm fine." Dany snapped. She was doing it, always so effortlessly able to read her. Till then they had stood practically across the room from each other, cautious.

She'd be a fool to join the dragons. Stannis was sure to win and he'd promised her in over a dozen letters freedom if she sailed to meet their forces in King's Landing. Balon Greyjoy would spit on the offer. He'd tell her that Ironborn weren't given freedom, they took it. But her father also died two sons short and no less free then he started.

"Stannis will not give you whatever he promises. He's not to be trusted."

"And neither are the Targaryens from what I hear. There are whispers all through the greenlands that there is no unity between you. That your nephew can't even keep his own wife and you and the wolf can't control his temper. That the girl drove him mad."

"So you'll not join us?"

"I told you, I don't follow fools. Especially fools weak with love."


	27. The Debts We Regret

**Sorry it takes me so long to update. I hate grad school! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and been encouraging. Also I posted this orginally late last night, then saw it was the wrong copy and edited it an hour later. If you are reading this, I think I've corrected most of the errors. Buckle up. This chapter is a ride. **

XXXX

No One found them close to evening, standing outside the Walls of the Sept, looking inside the broken gates at soot and destruction. The previously ravaged city was now gone, with nothing left but a pile of rubble. A few people milled around in the ruins, looking for some treasure that survived, anything from their lives that could be salvaged.

"They say there's nothing north of here, Arya. That everywhere is like this."

Standing at the entrance of the city with three horses and two babies, they looked just as lost as the children they passed.

"The Riverlands are crawling with soldiers." Rickon answered, solemnly, looking to Sansa.

"Who says?"

"Everyone we passed."

She knew it was true. Each day, the further they rode north, the more soldiers they encountered.

"What do we do?"

Rickon looked from No One to Sansa, nervously holding Cat in his arms. And No One knew, she'd always known, they'd never survive the Riverlands. They'd never make it through the Neck. Not with two small children. They needed to find water. They needed to get to the sea to have even a chance.

They would have to move south and take the Goldenroad. The children couldn't survive the journey over the mountains. They'd have to travel into the heart of Lannister territory and find a ship, if she was every going to get Sansa home.

"Keep moving."

"Where?"

"South."

* * *

It wasn't safe to sleep outside. It was hardly safe to sleep anywhere anymore. Lannister troops filtered through the mountains along the Goldenroad, marching in droves towards King's Landing. No One hesitated taking a room in Deep Den but had no other choice. As war drew near, the stench of drink and whores hung heavy in every town the men passed through. Two women with children wouldn't make it outside, unmolested, through the night.

Taking the horses to stable, No One was there for only minutes as the sun dipped below the horizon before she was confronted.

"Where' d ya think you're going?" Blocking her path, he swayed and reeked of cheap mead.

Without comment, No One side stepped the man, when his hand came down heavy on her shoulder.

"I said where'd ya think you're going? A woman, by herself at night…."

Looking down at his dark glove, she flatly answered, "Remove your hand."

When he smiled, sliding it further south in his drunken boldness, she quickly reached up and grabbed a fair sized chunk of his hair, yanking hard until his face was level with her own. "I won't repeat myself."

Before he could answer, No One dropped the reins and reached for her blade. Palming the polished base, she quickly struck him on the head with the hilt, causing his eyes to roll back as he fell to his knees. Taking the reins again, No One stepped over his seemingly unconscious body, confirming her earlier suspicions: taking a room was worth the risk.

She was almost to the stables when she heard him behind her again.

"Some men never learn." She sighed, grabbing Needle from her waist instead of the knife in her boot.

* * *

After climbing the steep stairs of the Inn, Arya pushed open the unlatched door, purchased by Alayne.

"Sansa?"

The room was relatively large with a curtain dividing the center. Seeing a wash basin, No One poured water from the pitcher and dipped her fingers into the water, washing away blood.

"Sansa?" Looking over her shoulder she could see a shadow hovering behind the white cotton. There was a scuffling noise before the curtain was ripped aside.

"Lady Targaryen, you finally arrive."

Petyr Baelish couldn't help but blind her with his simpering smirk.

"Where's my sister?"

"I must admit I wondered if it was you that had taken my Cat."

Drying her hands, No One tried to remain calm, "Where is she, Littlefinger?"

"Did you two really think you would make it far, a woman with Cat's beauty, calling herself, Alayne? With two children and you, your face everywhere from King's Landing, to across the Narrow Sea and you thought you'd escape me?"

No One thought of the blade at her hip.

"I have friends everywhere."

"What did you do with her?"

He looked to the red stained water.

"What's the blood from?"

"Moon blood," she lied.

Eyeing the basin, he slowly approached, almost belittling with his tone, "I must know. Who was it that helped you?"

"Does it matter?"

He was close enough now that she could smell peppermint wafting from his pores, "Not particularly, now."

Taking a step back, she carefully fingered Needle at her waist, "Where is she, Baelish?"

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he scolded, "Now, I wouldn't do that."

Before No One could cut him down, like the weed he was, Petyr called out, "If I could have some assistance?"

The door almost ripped from the hinges as it swung open, allowing for two large men to push their way through.

"Lady Targaryen will be coming with us."

No One thought to fight, but decided against it. Wherever they were taking her was most likely closer to Sansa and the children. To struggle and kill the men now would do nothing but give Baelish a chance to escape.

Roughly they grabbed her, pulling her from the room, down the stairs and out of the Inn.

"Where are you taking me, Lord Baelish?"

He smirked again, with the knowledge of whatever hideous plan he'd concocted, "You're not returning to Storm's End with us, My Lady."

The two men bound her wrists and lifted her onto a horse.

"I'm not?"

"No worries, Lady, you'll see your sister again briefly and soon enough, perhaps your husband. A great reward has been offered for your return, but I'm sure you now that. In times such as these, it seems your life is more precious than gold or stones."

"You plan on taking me back to King's Landing?" She almost laughed at the image, of Petyr Baelish thinking he could simply just hand her over to Aegon and leave the Keep with his head intact.

"Unfortunately I can't claim it myself, with current affairs."

"Really, then what is it that you plan to do?"

Looking back as he rode ahead, he replied, "Sell you to someone who can. Someone traveling south…. You remember Jamie Lannister, do you not? If I remember correctly he was an old friend of your father's."

No One moved to lunge off the horse and strangle him with her ropes but missed the opportunity. Sliding a sack over her head, the world went dark, as the last thing she heard was, "Can't have people knowing who's with us now, can we? They might get ideas about stealing you for themselves."

* * *

She didn't know how long she spent in the dark. When she woke to a low voice, with a stinging head, it could have been hours, "Arya? Can you hear me?"

"Sansa?"

"I'm sorry Arya. He was waiting. I tried…."

Twisting, she listened, realizing she was still outside and now on the ground somewhere.

"Where are we, Sansa?"

"I don't know."

"Rickon and Cat… Robb, are they alright?"

"Yes, they're fine… sleeping."

"Sansa…" she paused, afraid to ask, "Did he… are you okay?"

There was no answer. "Sansa…?"

"I'm fine," she whispered.

No One felt something brush her foot, as she continued, "Arya, I want you to promise me something."

Not replying, No One realized the thing resting against her foot was her sister's hand.

"I want you to leave me here."

"No." Her head twisted in the sack towards the sound of her sister's voice.

"Arya, when he sells you, ask the Kingslayer to take the children too. Take them back to King's Landing with you. Maybe Jon will listen. Maybe he'll take them north."

"No one is selling me, Sansa. I have a plan."

"Don't do anything foolish. Just let it happen. When you go, don't look back. Just… just let him have me."

No One contorted herself, sitting up on her knees, pulling her feet behind her. Struggling, she grunted, "No."

"If I stay, he'll forget Rickon and Robb… Cat, he'll leave them alone."

"Petyr Baelish will never hurt your children, Sansa. He'll be dead by morning." Arya answered curtly.

The pounding of feet on dirt could be heard nearby. "Please, Arya. Promise me."

"No."

Her hand stilled on her boot when her fingers met Sansa's. Gripping her, No One knew she was crying. "Just let him have me, Arya," she whispered.

"Lady Baratheon," there was a clanging of keys and a shuffling of bodies, "Lord Baelish has requested to see you."

"I won't do it, Sansa." Arya yelled as they took her away- the sound of Petyr's voice making her stomach roll, "_Yes, that's right dear. Take it in your mouth- just like I showed you."_

"Please, Arya!"

She struggled for minutes more after the footsteps subsided. Finally, palming the knife they missed in her boot, she tediously went to work at cutting through the thick ropes that bound her wrists. By the time she'd finished, No One gasped for fresh air, ripping the hood from her head.

She was right. They were outside in a field of high grass. Trapped inside a rudimentary cage, she went to work on the lock.

Where ever they were keeping the children couldn't have been far. Slipping through the scratchy blades of grass, she could make out two tents in the distance. Stepping forward, something caught her ankle, its grasp wet and cold.

"Arya?" Chained to a post by his ankles, Rickon looked up at her as if he thought he was dreaming.

"Shh…" holding her finger to her lips, she bent working on the lock that held his chains.

"Where are Cat and Robb?"

Rickon pointed to a tent, "There."

"Where's Sansa?"

Casting his eyes to the ground, the boy weakly answered, "I'm sorry, Arya."

"Sorry for what?" She questioned popping the lock.

"I should have protected them."

"Shh… you did fine Rickon. Now where is Sansa?"

"With him," his words were ominous, as No One felt her stomach turn again.

"Rickon, I want you to stay here. Don't move until I tell you to do so. Do you understand?"

"I can help."

"When the time is right, you will. But until then, no matter what, don't move. Not until I say. Okay?"

He shook his head in agreement as No One crawled off in the grass towards the two tents.

"They're coming. Did you say your goodbyes?" Petyr's insidious voice, floated from the tent.

"Yes."

Creeping closer to the flaps, No One pressed against the heavy burlap peering inside. Sitting in a chair, Sansa had been undressed to her small clothes. Her face was expressionless as he slithered his boney fingers through her long hair. "They'll be here soon enough," dropping lower, to the pale freckled skin of her collarbone before his hand rested on her breast.

Sighing, he promised, "Later Cat, later." Dipping his fingers into the white cotton, he leaned closer, "I promised, there will be time for this after."

Next to items on the floor, No One could see Needle resting amongst the few other possessions they had. Tempted to grab it, she backed away from the tent's opening, knowing that she should find the children first and then take care of Baelish.

But when he continued, "Well, maybe we have time for something," No One could contain herself no longer. It was ill thought out and foolish, but she couldn't stand the thought of Baelish touching Sansa for one more second.

Taking the small blade in hand, she walked into the tent, "I don't think you'll be collecting your reward."

When Baelish turned to yell for aide, Sansa finally found the courage to do the thing she'd been thinking of for days. Next to the small mirror, not even feet away, lay the blade Gendry had gifted. Petyr had removed it from his waist the first night he'd taken her back:

_(Flashback)_

"_Something in case you feel like doing anything foolish."_

_Pressing her back against the bed, he placed it within reaching distance and kept it there to remind her, he wouldn't always be so forgiving._

"_Mayhaps someday we'll have no use for it." He offered, crawling on top of her. _

"_Someday when you are better behaved."_

Gendry was right. Sansa was stronger than she thought, because when she grabbed the knife from the stand and plunged it into Baelish's resting hand, she didn't worry about doing it wrong. Sansa didn't feel guilty for causing pain. She only felt relief.

"Hells, you little bitch!"

Jumping from her seat she grabbed the dress that was lying on the floor and quickly slipped it over her head as Baelish struggled to pull the blade from his hand and the wood.

Stooping to retrieve Needle from the pile, No One moved to finish the job, when a cry was heard in the distance, muffled by the sound of men as they rushed them.

"Rickon!" They narrowly made it through the flaps before they were met with a blur of soldiers. Clad in red, gold and a few in black.

"Stop them."

Pulling Sansa behind her, Lannister troops cornered them against the tent.

"Get in here and help me, you fools!" Littlefinger screamed from inside.

"And where do you think you're going?" Jamie Lannister questioned as he stepped in front of the men.

"Get them inside now." Baelish rasped, as he stumbled outside, clutching his hand. When Jamie motioned for the soldiers to oblige, No One lifted Needle, preparing for a fight.

"And what should we do with him, My Lord?" Coming forward, a Lannister troop held Rickon limp in his arms- blood pooling from his abdomen. "We found him taking the children from the other tent."

"Rickon!" Sansa cried. Running forward, No One attempted, "No, Sansa. Don't do it," but was too late as she brushed past her, scrambling towards the soldier.

"Inside, now!"

Grabbing Sansa, the men herded her and Rickon towards the tent. When they tried to retrieve No One, she swung Needle, catching the first soldier off guard.

"If you wish to stay with your sister, I suggest you don't resist." Stepping out from behind his massive brother, Tyrion Lannister walked towards No One. "It seems, My Lady, that you are greatly outnumbered. And your brother is in need of a Maester. Can we not discuss this matter somewhere private?"

"Bring Sansa to me and Rickon."

Jamie looked at the guard holding both.

"I'll fight each and every one of you if I have to." No One threatened.

With Lannister approval, the guard, released Sansa, who held Rickon in her arms.

"Now, can we continue this inside?"

Holding Sansa, No One was corralled into the small tent with a pained, sweating Baelish, Jamie Lannister, the Imp and a very large woman, clad in armor.

Wasting no time, the woman looked to the Lannister brothers and questioned, "Are you sure it's her?"

"Positive," Baelish answered for them.

"Lady Targaryen, it's so nice of you to join us."

"Kingslayer," She drawled in a thick Braavosi accent she had tried to shed in the past two years.

As their tense exchange was set to take place, Sansa had sunk to floor, completely oblivious to the world around as she clung to Rickon, her hands pressed to his wound.

"She does look like the drawing," Jamie commented, circling her as if she were a horse to be purchased. "However, it has been a few years since I've seen her last."

" How can we be sure this is the right woman?" The female questioned again.

"If you would excuse me," gently pushing his brother aside, the Imp stared up at her.

"Do you mind if I touch you?" He asked, his hand reaching out.

"Only if you don't mind losing your fingers," No One quipped, her remark met with a hearty bout of laughter from the taller Lannister. "She's a great deal more sharp tongued than her sister. I'll give you that."

Ignoring his brother's comments, Tyrion questioned, "Can we have a moment, Lord Baelish? I'd like to discuss our price with my brother."

"Of course."

Motioning to his men, outside, they moved to pick Sansa from the ground and push No One out of the small area, when Tyrion halted their efforts, watching No One step forward to strike Petyr's men, "No. She stays. My brother would like a closer look at her."

"She's not going anywhere," No One snapped.

Trying to decipher No One's level of sincerity, he was swayed as she swung at a guard who inched forward, "They will stay, as we decide." Baelish looked pained, as if he'd refuse before the Imp concluded, "That is, if you don't mind, Lord Baelish."

"Of course not."

With the men gone, the woman was the first to speak, "Disgusting little weasel. We cannot let the Stark girl return with him."

"Baratheon," Jamie corrected. "She's wed now. Widowed or not, Storm's End is where she belongs. And why do we care?"

"You made her mother a promise." The air in the room shifted as the large armed woman and the Kingslayer, seemed to be continuing some previous argument.

"And so we'll buy this one and give her back to the King, Brienne."

"The Mad King," she answered. "The husband she ran from."

"I couldn't agree more. So why are we here? Let's march back to Casterly Rock. Let Stannis and the Targaryen's kill each other."

"Stop," Tyrion interrupted, nodding his head in the direction of the three Stark children, clearly still present, "We've discussed this already."

"Is it her?" The woman demanded.

The brothers exchanged a look between them before Jamie answered, "She looks just like Lyanna."

"Interesting," the Imp commented, turning to Arya.

"You realize we can hear you?"

Ignoring her, Brienne turned back to the brothers, "You took an oath. Will you not fulfill it when given the opportunity a second time?"

"What would you have me do, Brienne?"

"If she wishes to return north to her brother, do so. Get her away from that maggot."

"And the girl?" He pointed to Arya, "Return her north also? Have the Mad King come to our shores with his dragons when he finds that I've given up his wife?"

"Baelish will never give up Sansa," No One interrupted, drawing their attention. "Let me kill him. I'll go with you willingly back to King's Landing. You can collect your reward for your troubles."

Stepping forward, Tyrion questioned, amused, "You wish to return to King's Landing?"

"Let me kill Baelish and I'll go with you."

"You kill Littlefinger?" Jamie mocked.

"Yes, Kingslayer. Similar to how I slaughtered your sister."

Without thinking, Jamie lunged forward, to strike No One, when the woman's strong hand stopped him short. "Do you wish to return to King's Landing?" Brienne questioned.

"I could cut your tongue from your mouth," Jamie threatened, fuming.

Looking at his golden false hand, No One mocked, "Please, I welcome your efforts, Turn Cloak."

"Jamie," Tyrion warned, as his brother went to draw his sword, "this is not what we've come for."

"Why are we here?!"

No One interrupted, this time, "To collect your reward. Which I hear is great. When I kill Baelish, you will let my sister and her children go free. Then I will go with you, unarmed."

"I need not make a bargain with you, woman. If we wish to take you, we will."

"Is your left hand as dull as your wit?" No One retorted .

"Still strong enough to finish off the Stark line."

"Ha, please, do try." The more aggravated No One became, drawn into a heated moment with an old adversary, the more pronounced her Braavosi accent became.

"You took an oath, Jamie." Brienne warned, her arm holding him back.

"Lady Stark is just as dead as the boy king that has been eaten and shit out by every fish in the Trident."

"Funny, your twin's face looked almost exactly the same before my blade passed over her cold bloated skin."

"ENOUGH!" Brienne, yelled. "We are running out of time."

"You don't wish to return to your husband, do you Lady Targaryen?" Tyrion questioned again.

No One didn't answer.

"We will return them both, north," Brienne interjected.

"We are marching to war, Brienne. Now is not the time."

"I will take them. Let me escort them."

"You'll never make it through the Neck," Jamie answered, "You'd need an army."

"We will not go anywhere with a Lannister. You may take me but you will not take my sister and brother, or her children." No One answered.

"We will do with you as we please." Jamie's usually balmy exterior was cracking further, the tension in his face hardening as he spoke to No One.

"Then we'll go by ship."

"And what am I to tell the Mad King?" Jamie questioned, rubbing his brow, annoyed.

"You will tell him nothing, Kingslayer, for you will not touch either my sister or I. We do not need your help to leave here."

"Arya!" From the ground, Sansa finally spoke. Rocking Rickon back and forth in her arms, her dress was covered in his blood, "We will go with them, Arya. We will do as they say."

"Don't be a fool Sansa. Never trust a Lannister. Have you forgotten who killed Ned, Robb our mother?"

A bloodied, hand reached up wiping tears from her cheek, "I said we will go."

"No. We will not."

"I want my son!" Sansa, cried out in frustration. "I want my son to live. I want my children to be live- to be safe. And I don't care if I have to sell myself to evil itself to do it."

"Son?" Jamie questioned, " I thought the boy was her brother?"

"Shut up, Turn Cloak!" No One snapped.

"We won't make it, Arya. Not by ourselves. He won't make it. We need a Maester." Then curling onto Rickon, pulling him tighter to her chest, she wept into his neck and continued rocking. "I swear. You'll be okay, Rickon. Just hold on, dear. Just hold on a little longer. We'll get you help," she whispered.

"We won't tell the King anything." Tyrion answered, finally speaking up. "No one else will know."

"What about Baelish and his men?"

"We'll kill them." Brienne answered.

"Brother?"

Jamie looked to him for guidance. Tyrion didn't know why he was agreeing to this. He hadn't sworn and broke an oath to the late Lady Stark. They were marching to King's Landing to protect the crown. If they were discovered, they'd be fined, chastised, or burnt alive, along with their lands.

But for some reason, all Tyrion could think of was Jon Snow's face. The young boy who'd traveled to the Wall, certain misery, without fear and the man who tried hard to hide his obvious affection.

Tyrion owed Jon, nothing. But his family owed the Stark's more than they'd ever be able to repay. His brother, sister and father had ripped child from mother, husband from wife and siblings from one another for nothing. All of it done without remorse or apology. Another Stark child bleeding out before them while they argued amongst themselves.

He knew that he might very well live to regret this moment someday, but he didn't care, "Kill Baelish. Brienne and I will take the women to the sea."

"Tyrion…." Jamie objected.

"We owe them this, if nothing else." The Imp answered.

"If we're caught, we're dead."

"Then let us not be caught." Brienne quipped.

The next ten minutes were a flurry of confusion as Sansa was ripped from the ground with Rickon and the guards rushed to stop their hasty escape.

"Please, one moment." Running to the table where the bloody knife still lay, Sansa tucked it into the folds of her dress before she followed the large woman from the tent with the Imp.

Moving behind the Kingslayer, No One burst into the middle of the large struggle when the Lannister soldiers, upon Jamie's instruction, swarmed Littlefinger's Guards.

"Stop! Get the girl." Baelish yelled, as he lunged after Sansa.

No One stepped forward, swinging to strike him down when a hand wrapped around her waist holding her back. Quickly turning, she glared up at Jamie, before he shoved her toward her sister and the recovered children.

"Go! You won't have much time."

No One stopped, not trusting the Lannisters for one moment. Why were they risking death for them?

"I'll kill you someday, be sure of that, just not today," Jamie promised, seemingly able to read her mind. "I loathe that I ever took that oath. I should have let her kill me." Pushing her harder, towards Sansa, the Imp and the woman that called her name, Jamie concluded, "Now get out of my sight," before a set of strong hands grabbed Arya by the wrists, quickly overpowering her.

Looking up, her hands shook with furry as she met Ilyn Pane's pock marked face.

"Hurry, Arya please."

Two sets of hands lifted her onto a horse, as Ilyn disappeared onto his own, feet behind her while their small group fled into the night.

* * *

"We know not we've done." No One whispered to Sansa a week later as she sat hovering over Rickon's bed. "The Lannister's are not to be trusted."

"You think I don't know that?" Sansa, calmly answered. "You think I'm so quick to forget?"

Looking the short distance to Brienne of Tarth, No One knew better than to vent her frustrations too loudly, "We must leave. We'll need to find a way."

Rickon had not woken from his sweat drenched sleep since the night they fled. Without time to find a Maester, No One begrudgingly allowed the Imp to tend to his wounds himself.

_(Flashback)_

"_He'll be fine won't he?"_

"_I don't just carry milk of the poppy with me. We should be able to find some the next few days. So he'll likely feel this." Tyrion noted, as he began stitching the gaping wound._

_Rickon stirred, briefly, his clammy hands shaking._

"_Stop, he's in pain!" Sansa cried. _

"_He'll die if we don't treat it, Lady Baratheon." _

_Nodding her head, No One urged him to continue._

_When the job was finished, he wiped blood from his hands and set off into the woods._

"_Where are you going?" No One questioned, as she trailed behind him._

"_Plants," he bent digging through various types of green mosses covering the ground. "If we don't treat the wound, it will fester, long enough to make him wish he were dead."_

"_How do you know how to treat the ill?" No One eyed him suspiciously, holding his wrist. Was he trying to poison Rickon?_

"_Those of us less pleasing have to find more interesting pursuits when we can't play our father's favorite." Unconvinced, No One refused to let go until he continued, "I've read a great deal in my life, Lady Targaryen. More than possibly even a Maester."_

"_Don't call me that."_

"_What? Lady Targaryen? Is that not your married name?"_

_Dropping his wrist, she answered, "No. It's not."_

"_Then what should I call you?"_

"_Stark. Just Stark or you may use Arya. But I'm no Lady and I'm not a Targaryen."_

_The small man looked up at No One as if he were deciding something before he asked, "You never would have gone back. If we had agreed, let Sansa go and taken you south for the reward… you would have never made it to King's Landing, would you have?"_

"_No." _

"_Seems people often underestimate you, as well?"_

"We aren't going to do anything foolish, Arya."

"We can't stay here," she firmly answered, looked at Ilyn in the distance.

"I'm not going anywhere and neither are the children until Rickon is better. The Imp knows how to treat his wounds."

"Sansa, we could find a Maester." No One hissed.

"No. We will not leave until my child is better."

"Rickon is not your child, Sansa and he might…" she struggled for a second before finishing, "he might very well die. We need to be practical."

"He is my child. I may not have pushed him from my body, but Rickon is mine. I am now his mother and mothers protect their children."

"Sansa, don't be foolish." Their voices had risen, slightly, causing a stir from the Brienne feet away.

"Is there a problem, My Lady?" Brienne had taken a special liking to Sansa over the past few days. Almost as if she were her personal guard. The Imp said it had to do with her now being a Baratheon. That the Lady of Tarth had sworn to protect Renly Baratheon, but failed. And since, had never recovered from the error.

"No, Brienne. I am fine, thank you," Sansa answered, polite as ever. Like the perfect Lady, before she turned her attention back to No One, "The Lady of Tarth would never hurt us or the children. Did you know she made mother a promise? When Renly Baratheon died, she promised to protect our mother. She promised to bring you and I home."

"How do you know this?"

"She told me, herself." No One almost rolled her eyes, "That was nine years past. She's been too long with the Lannisters."

"That's why he agreed," she continued, as if No One should understand what she meant. "He promised our mother. He took an oath that he would take us from King's Landing: his life, for our lives."

"Who?"

"Jamie Lannister."

"Foolish and she likely sold the only advantage Robb had left. She should have never trusted a Lannister."

"Catelyn Stark was wise, Arya. She must have had her reasons."

Lady Stark and her reasons. Reasons that somehow ended with her a monster and Robb desecrated by the Freys.

"Even if that mattered, that does not explain the Imp. It was not the Kingslayer that agreed. It was the Imp that forced his hand."

"One never knows with Tyrion Lannister," Sansa whispered. "I knew him for a short while, when I was at the Keep. He was kind, Arya."

"So were the Freys before they slaughtered our brother and mother. Do not confuse kindness with sincerity or honesty."

"The children and I are staying with the Lady of Tarth. We are going with Tyrion Lannister to Lannisport. I'm sorry, Arya. If you were a mother you would understand."

"The Others have motherhood and its foolish ideals!" No One curse as she rose, leaving Sansa.

Watching Ilyn Payne, No One sat herself next to the Tyrion. For as suspicious as she still may be of him, it was undeniable that he was an interesting man. If nothing else, he proved to serve as an excuse for her to move in proximity of Ilyn. For days she studied the hideous man. He would die long before they ever made Lannisport.

At his side, he carried her father's blade, unashamed and apologetic for the obvious cruelty of the act. Ilyn Payne would die, mayhaps not the way that No One had wished to kill him. But he'd be another name on the list crossed off, sooner rather than later.

* * *

Weeks on the road, through the mountains, the women were careful to keep themselves covered. However, with the boy still largely unconscious and two small children, the journey was slow. Sansa refused to let anyone but herself carry Rickon on their horse. With Brienne armed, ever vigilant and on guard with Payne, both No One and Tyrion were left to carry the babies. Luckily with Brienne of Tarth's blade, Ilyn's presence and Tyrion's name, they were not bothered as they traveled in secret on the Goldenroad.

"How long did you live across the Narrow Sea, Stark?" Saddling his horse next to No One's, Tyrion often sought her company.

"What do you mean?"

"Your accent, when you become frustrated, angered, it slips."

Shortly after she had returned to Westeros, No One had gone to great lengths to relearn the local vernacular. To avoid questions of where she'd been. What she'd done. But he was right. There were a few times, when strained, that eight years across the Narrow Sea would slip from her tongue.

"A while."

"You're very sparing about the details. I've met soldiers with more eager tongues than yours."

Despite herself, No One did enjoy Tyrion. She understood his humor and appreciated the quiet sense of alienation that he seemed to be carrying with him always.

"I'm sure they lived long." She remarked, shifting Cat in her arms.

"You seem uncomfortable," Tyrion noted, looking down to Robb, resting in a makeshift sling.

"It's better that she's asleep."

He grinned, "You don't like children, do you?"

No One didn't answer, obviously uncomfortable with his current line of questioning, so Tyrion continued, "I always wished someday, I'd have one. When wed, did you never discuss it?"

"No." She lied.

"Strange. I wonder if your brother plans to provide Targaryen heirs for Dragonstone."

"Jon is not my brother."

"Yes, cousin…. Forgive me, I forgot. It's remarkable how much you both favor each other, so unlike the other Starks who favor your mother…."

Arya shifted and stiffened a little in her seat, her face growing eerily blank.

"Were you close? You and Jon? He spoke of you, when I traveled with him to the Wall, many years ago."

"Enough of Jon." She answered, a needling edge in her voice.

He smirked, "Ironic how much alike the two of you are. He said the same thing when I asked of you."

"Who?"

"Who else? Jon Snow."

"Targaryen," she corrected quietly.

"No, he's still a Snow. He'll never be one of them and he knows it."

"Don't you mean your King? The one you've sent your brother to die for, in battle." She sighed, artfully changing the topic.

"It would seem at the moment that Aegon Targaryen is King to neither of us."

Again her face remained unchanged.

"Do you know your husband has burned the Riverlands? Every square inch of property from the Twins to below the God's Eye, past the Red Fork, gone. He's killed Walder Frey and many of others that couldn't run from his fires."

"Walder Frey?"

"Its rumored he burned in bed."

"_Poetic_," No One thought, but answered, "I need not hear, I've seen. And he is not my husband."

"Were you not married by the Septor? Were there not witnesses?" Tyrion dug.

"He is not my husband. I am not a Targaryen." She answered, calmly.

Minutes they rode in silence until he began, "They sing songs of you? Did you know that?"

In the weeks they had ridden side by side, he'd never once asked her of her past. But as they neared Lannisport, Tyrion had begun again to question what it was that come over him to make a decision that could likely seal his fate, like those before, who dared to cross the Targaryens.

When she failed to acknowledge his question, he sang, unsolicited, the tragic legacy that she was leaving. The one they all were paying for, that would be told to children for years to come and sang in every alehouse from Hornwood to Sandstone.

**_And who is she, the King commands_**

**_That whispers from long ago?_**

**_Only a ghost from lover's past_**

**_That cuts the dragon low_**

**_A crown of blue_**

**_The drops of blood, rubies the Trident Lost_**

**_Not once, but twice the curse of madness_**

**_The wolf's love will cost_**

**_Only she can walk unscathed through heat and burning fires_**

**_Her heart so cold, with just one touch_**

**_She'll kill any admirer_**

**_And so it goes, the Mad King's hatred grows_**

**_Suffering the sweetness of a southern rose_**

**_And from his furry the wolf queen runs_**

**_Disappearing, neither north nor south_**

**_As smoke chokes out the sun_**

**_The Trident whom claimed the Silver Prince_**

**_Runs blue, to red, now black_**

**_Rinsing history from its stones, as the son, a Dragon King, gives back_**

**_And so it goes, nothing grows_**

**_The wolf once had, is lost_**

**_For as before, a future of love, now gone, covered in frost_**

"Enough!" Arya barked, with a thick Braavosi tilt. "Do not speak of things you do not know."

As she spurred her horse forward, Tyrion watched and finished the last line he'd written, to himself and Robb:

**_And so he'll search, to no end_**

**_But never, find northern love again_**

**_The wolf runs home_**

**_But waits, unknown, alone_**

**_For a secret love, from her past_**

**_The Bastard Snow_**

**_To come back_**

He intended to catch up and apologize. Tyrion had never in his life been intentionally cruel, but his thoughts were stopped when there was a commotion from behind.

Ilyn lay face down in the dirt, chocking on his own fluids.

"What's happened?" Tyrion hollered, unable to move from his horse with Robb swaddled to his chest.

Kneeling by his side, Brienne was there in time to hear his last gasp of breath before his body went stiff and there was no more. Reaching down, with her ear pressed to his mouth, she looked up at a startled Tyrion and Sansa, answering, "He's dead."

"Is he wounded?" Tyrion asked, searching the land around them for invisible enemies.

Grabbing his water bladder, inches from where if fell from his hand, she smelled the contents and replied, "No, poison."

* * *

Sweat poured from his forehead and as he fell forward slamming into a tree. Holding the bark, Baelish caught the rotted smell of his hand, wafting in the wind. She'd cut him clean through. His Cat, had wounded him.

If he'd seen a Maester early, he might have been able to save it. But weeks on the run had let it fester. Now black and green, all manner of foul smelling liquids seeped from the orifice. Eyeing it for the first time in days, Baelish's body lunged forward, heaving up nothing, as he'd gone days without food.

He'd die soon from blood poisoning if he didn't have it removed. He could feel the fever, slowly for more than a week, setting in.

Littlefinger, knew he should lie down and sleep. He'd never survive at this pace. But with the shouts of men still trailing him in the distance, he pulled himself from his slumped position and trudged on. Someday, he'd get her back. Someday, he'd find Cat again and when he did, she would pay.

* * *

They would be in Lannisport the next morning and never was the camp more highly charged than what it was that night. Neither the Imp or Brienne had to say it, for No One to know they knew it was her.

Even Sansa, who had never questioned the things No One did without her knowledge, the reasons why she had left Aegon, what kept her up all night and silent during most days, was suspicious. She watched her sister with a quiet caution.

It was Tyrion who finally said something, when they camped for the night. Seating himself next to her, alone by the fire, he held out the thing that made No One feel like someone.

"I suppose I should be presenting this to your brother. Mayhaps send it to north, to the king." Holding out Ice, the light danced off the black blade.

"But I feel like this blade yours not theirs. I've not met the northern king, in quiet some years," Tyrion sighed, as if he were thinking of how to best continue. "Sometimes I think, she would have made a better knight than he."

Taking Ice in her hands, she ran her hand over the blade, just has her father had years ago.

"She was cruel, small minded and selfish. But she was stronger than he was. Cersei was stronger than Jamie. Mayhaps if things were different. If she were allowed to be a knight, to choose her own life. Then, she may not become what she did."

"Cersei Lannister was plague on the world."

"That she was, but what I'm trying to say, not so gracefully, is this belongs to you. I will not send it home to the northern king or give it to the boy. A sword like this should belong to someone like you. It's yours."

"It always was."

"I won't ask you if you did it. That way, we need not lie to each other. You had your reasons."

Setting Ice across her lap, No One made eye contact with Tyrion and responded, "Thank you."

"You question, me. You wonder why I would risk this. Why would I help you and your sister? it seems a foolish thing to do. And I don't know if I have an answer for you even now. But I feel its owed. Mayhaps it is not my dept to pay. But I will, for those of my House whom never did."

"A Lannister always pays their debts."

Tyrion smile, raising his lambskin of wine to the fire in toast, "We may be many things. But at least in that regard we're reliable."

Taking a hefty swig, he wiped his mouth and finished, "He'd be a great King, you know. Jon. It's a shame the way things are in life. Jamie and I sent Lannister troops for him, not Aegon. He's much like your late father."

"This is treasonous, the things you say," she warned, with a slight smile.

"Yes, well, my neck if already on the stone. What else do I have to lose?"

"Everything."

Tyrion had never known Lyanna. He'd never met Rhaegar. But he'd heard the stories as everyone else had. Curious, how things seemed to repeat themselves in history. Mayhaps the story was true. Rhaegar may have kidnapped the northern lady or she may have gone with him willingly. But looking at Arya, holding her father's blade in her lap, he understood. He'd never ride a dragon, but he could see how a man would burn a kingdom to find her. How a brother would covet something that couldn't be his. She was different- special.

"Mayhaps if they were allowed to love one another. If it need not be a secret. If our father would have allowed them to be happy, none of this would have happened."

No One never asked Tyrion what he meant and he never offered anything further. A silent understanding passed between them then. She'd never know how, but No One realized that Tyrion was aware and she made no effort to refute it.

He'd never really know the full scope of the thing. That there was more to it now.

* * *

Everywhere it could be heard, rumors of Stannis's mass army inching near.

"He couldn't have gone far. He was wounded!" Jamie yelled at the messenger whom brought the news, of no news.

"I'm sorry My Lord, why is it so important that Lord Baelish be found? I'm sure the men mean to abandon soon and come north to fight the real battle."

"He has information that is very important."

The man looked at him suspiciously, "Can it not wait until after the war?"

Only two men of the guard knew their secret as they tracked down Littlefinger somewhere south of King's Landing. Trusted, Jamie need not worry of their mouths telling tales of the Stark girl while on the hunt. After Baelish was found, after he was killed, however, those men would have to die as well. Luckily Stannis's army might save him the trouble.

Even with Lannister support and the burning of the Riverlands, it was estimated they were still outnumbered three to one. Other pacifists became eager to join the Baratheon effort after the Mad King's burning of thousands of homes and cities.

"_Ironic, is it not?"_ Jamie thought to himself. Years ago another stag marched against a mad Targaryen King, with the support of over half the seven behind him. A member of the King's Guard, he'd stabbed Aery's in the back, himself. Now close to thirty years later, he fought for another crazed dragon and needed not a knife to betray the king he'd never met but sworn an oath to protect. However, it was no more of an egregious crime than the dozens of other oaths he'd broken: to father no children while in the King's Guard, protect Robert Baratheon and his interests, hold no lands and a list of many others.

"Of all the oaths to keep..." He'd chosen the only one that would most certainly get him killed.

* * *

She'd dozed for only a moment, keeping watch as the other's slept. Everything was silent. Not even a cricket, fiddling in the distance. But counting the bodies, she was short. The quiet one was gone.

Brienne had a silent respect for Lady Targaryen. The way that all soldiers appreciated another's gift. Although she wasn't quite sure, what the lady's gift entailed. There was something violent that lay under her surface. Something dark and controlled. Arya rarely ever slept at night. She chose to pass the evenings hovering on the edge of their camp. Keeping watch, the same as Brienne. Never moving too far from her sister and the children.

So when she woke to find her gone, Brienne panicked. Had she missed something? Had she run off? Creeping past the sleeping others, she worried leaving them unattended. But a sheep of her flock was gone. She had no other choice.

Searching for a short while, she could hear the soft trickling of a nearby spring and the rustling of displaced grass. Pushing through the light thicket, Brienne drew her sword, ready to attack whatever she'd encountered. But found no adversary.

Instead what she saw the Stark girl huddled over the small creek, naked, bathing herself. Lowering her weapon, she stepped from behind the bushes, to call out to the woman and bid her to return to camp. But she didn't have time to offer warning. Her foot snapped a twig, causing No One to snatch Needle from the ground and regrettably, her tunic last.

It was too late. Although there was sparse moonlight Brienne saw the one thing No One had been so careful to hide in weeks previous. It was small, but the well defined bump protruding from the woman's thin body was still unmistakable.

"I didn't mean to scare you, Lady Stark. I only..." No One turned her bare back, tugging the shirt over her head.

There were few times in her life when Brienne was at a loss for words. But as the Stark woman quickly dressed herself, replacing the small sword at her hip, Brienne struggled to think of what to say.

They would all burn.

As positive as she was of honor, duty and any oath she'd ever taken, Brienne was sure of this: her, Tyrion, Jamie, and Sansa were as good as dead. No god of the seven could save them from the stink of shit they'd stepped in now.

* * *

**A/N:**

**First, Arya's pregnancy was not something that I just randomly decided to throw in for shock value at the end of the chapter. I hate when people do that stuff. I have been planning that outcome from chapter one. As for Baelish, don't worry, someday he will die. I just think that he needs to suffer in the meantime. A short death would be too kind for him. The war is the next chapter. Sorry I didn't get to it yet. I always think I'm going to cover more than what I actually get through in a chapter. Hey, I hate editing. If anyone wants to Beta for me, PM me and let me know.  
**

**Thanks for reading guys. Sorry for the cliff hanger. Hey, motivate me to update quicker and review! **


	28. I Gave You All, Never Enough

**I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. This was the most difficult chapter for me to write so far. My writer's block was horrible. **

**First thank you to everyone who has responded, Favorited, followed and commented. I never expected this story to become so big, especially because it has all relatively unpopular ships. **

**Baby bump... drum roll... no just kidding. I never meant for that to be a question. The kid is Aegon's. Although yes, Arya and Jon did have that moment in the sea, I don't think she would have been well enough physically to conceive. However, with that said, both aegon/arya and arya/ jon ship is alive and well. That baby isn't a death nail for either ship. Which brings to point the next order of business. I've been toying with the idea of alternate endings. But I'd only do it if there was an even split of people wanting both ships. So to determine, go to my profile page and take the poll to help me decide if I should do alternate endings or who she should end up with. **

**Also quick note for people asking me about a time line. It has been over two years since Arya first came to Westeros. Its been a little over four months since Arya has come back from being captured. She's been on the run for three months. Margery is around five and half months pregnant.  
**

**Thanks for reading.**_  
_

* * *

_(Jon's dream, 1 day after leaving Casterly Rocky)_

_He can hear their screams filling the air. Men's crying out as life is leeched from their bodies. Hands grab at his legs pulling him further to the ground, begging for him to join them. And he wants to. Jon wants to give up, stop fighting. He's growing tired of the weight. He's tired of feeling this kind of loss._

_But he can't. Yards from him, he can see its dark opening, calling from him to keep moving. The cave, drawing him near like a rope is tethered to his waist._

"_Closer," it whispers, forcing his legs to push forward leaving the men; abandoning those that scream for his help._

_Nothingness. As soon as his foot crosses over onto the black dirt, he's no longer there. Jon's no longer anywhere. He's lost in darkness, so heavy that it pushes against him. So cold, that if he could see anything it would be his breath. He can't go back for the same reason he can't move forward- he'll never find his way._

_Maybe this is how he'll die? Not with the men. Not in sea of blood, sweat and tears, with hands grabbing at him pleading for aide. No, instead he'll pass in cold isolation. Alone, how he's always been._

"_You're not," a warm breath on his face, whispers, answering his questions._

_An icy touch traces the outline of his face, sending chills down Jon's spine. But he feels no need to draw his sword._

_It's familiar._

"_You've never been alone."_

_He can feel it moving, circling around him, close, the smell of roses hanging thick in the air._

_The soft flicking that grows, feet in front of him is painful. Jon shields his eyes from the blinding wavering light._

_A figure passes in front of the flame, as quick as it is there, it's gone again. First there's an arm, dark hair, a body, delicate white hands clutching a crown of blue roses. When Jon approaches it disappears again, but answers, "I sent her to you."_

"_Who?" He questions, his head whipping side to side looking for the figure. _

"_So you would know love..."_

_The flame grows illuminating the outline of a woman._

"_As I did," the female voice finishes, whispering to him in the distance._

_Jon's feels a sharp twinge as he reaches for Arya but she disappears._

"_Go home, son. Go home."_

* * *

He didn't consider himself malicious. He only meant to do good, as he'd tell others, whatever was needed to keep the peace. Whatever had to be done to keep madness in check.

His Little Mice had whispered all manner of interesting things in his ears over the past six months. They'd shared how the Dragon King spent three moons without company in his bed after his marriage to the Stark woman. They were quick to inform him when suddenly they never spent a night apart.

His eyes and ears telling of heated murmurs and wordless exchanges coming from the silver queen and her dark nephew as they entered the same room at night.

They came to him spilling details of a bastard Targaryen long before the good queen had come seeking his council, spreading the news of a wedding with the House Tyrell.

There were other little favors, tidbits of information they chirped to him, compiling news of knights and ladies of the court. But it was their stories of the Targaryens that fed the spider the most. The secrets that bound the three dragons and would someday possibly separate them forever.

Yes, Vary didn't consider himself conniving or cruel, only ever vigilant of disasters on the horizon.

* * *

Readorning her clothing, No One brushed pass as if nothing happened. Still in shock, Brienne grabbed her by the shoulder, only to find a blade quickly pressed to her neck.

"You can't hide this."

"There's nothing to hide," No One replied expressionless.

Swallowing with the edge carving into the flesh of her throat, Brienne continued, "I know what I saw."

"You saw nothing." She dropped her knife as Brienne released her hold.

"That nothing, will eventually become something."

"I wouldn't concern yourself."

"Then will you? We need to tell the others."

"There's nothing to tell."

Solemn, the Lady of Tarth looked briefly back to where the other's slept, "We both know that's not true."

"It, is no one's business and if I have to kill you to keep it that way, I will."

Impossible circumstances, it wasn't her place. Brienne had no right to share the secret. She wished dearly she didn't know.

When there was no response, No One knew she'd not say a word. Turning, she headed through the thicket when Sansa's guard dog called out, "You can't keep it a secret forever," stopping No One in her tracks.

"You're carrying an heir to the Targaryen throne. You'll never be rid of him now. He'll hunt you and that child till death. You and everyone you ever cared about will never find peace again."

* * *

It's been weeks since the last reports of Bolton's men. Driven out of the Barrowlands, they seemed to have disappeared, too quietly.

Jojen knew he needed to leave, that it was time, but he felt compelled to stay. It wasn't over yet. They both seem to know that Ramsay Bolton was lurking somewhere in the dark, waiting for his moment.

"Go." Bran offered, reaching up from his chair, taking his friend's hand.

Grim faced, Jojen could feel a heavy pull compelling him to leave. But still he worried of the future, both unseen and known.

"Go before the winter snows are too high and you cannot."

Having already said his goodbyes to Meera, Jojen asked Bran to promise him the same thing he had asked her, "If you wed, you must do so before the first summer snows."

"We will wed when the rebellion is put down."

Grabbing his friends hand, Jojen gave him a look that spoke of horrors yet unlived, "Promise me Bran, before the summer's first snow. I should be back before then… but if I am not..."

He wondered what mysterious thing drew his friend to the Barrowlands. What future has haunted him for years?

"I promise. When the rebellion is put down, I will wed your sister."

* * *

"You were right."

Asha didn't need to ask about what, she could see it written all over the younger woman's face.

"Do you think I care?"

"No."

Dany knew Asha wouldn't join. She'd known, in truth, before she left the Riverlands. But why did she come?

Tilting her head to the side, a small smile spread quickly over her lips before she grabbed Asha, embracing her.

"I missed you."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Gripping her harder, Dany sniped, "Shh... don't ruin this for me."

Against her better judgment Asha softened a little, letting her hold there without further complaint. She was maybe the only female friend she'd ever had.

"You're right. I am foolish because I love him... and you."

* * *

(3 months previous)

Reaching out a perfumed hand, Vary's placed a dragon in the young boy's palm.

"And what where they saying?"

Coming from the Sept of Baelor, the child had seen something while performing his duties for the High Septor that was worth a great deal too some people. The boy greedily looked down at the dragon and continued, "Not what they said."

Smirking, Vary's reached into his layers of silk and produced another dragon encouraging the boy to finish.

"What did you see between Arya and Lord Targaryen?"

"There was a kiss..." Dramatically, the dirty child paused before finishing, "A long one."

The spider smiled to himself. Secrets... everyone had secrets.

* * *

"They won't be coming. Asha refused." Alone, in the late hours of night, Aegon listens their sounds filling the evening. Thousands of Dornish troops camped outside the city alongside those sent from the Reach.

Both knew what was soon to come, that they were facing insurmountable odds.

"Come," he answered, motioning for her to join him. It was unusually cold the past few days, the chill of death creeping into the southern lands.

Seating herself on the floor, close to the fire, Dany reached up, taking Aegon's cup from behind.

"What will we do?"

He didn't answer. The fire popped and hissed while they passed the glass back and forth in silence, pondering how they could win against certain failure.

"Do you know what they call me?" He leaned forward, his hand absentmindedly stroking Dany's hair. "The Mad King," he answered himself.

"Have I done it all wrong, Dany? Have I not made the right sacrifices?"

"No."

"What would they have wanted us to do?" He questioned. _"What would Jon Connington have said?" _He wondered.

"The same as what we've done, Aegon. What we had to do."

"Then will we end as they did? Slain by our own allies, torn apart by those that we protected, abandoned by those we loved?"

She reached for his hand, just as afraid of the answer as he.

"Maybe they're right."

Chills ran down Daenerys spine as he continued, "He took my wife and brother, beat them both. He allowed his men to have their way with Arya, like she was a common whore, and then left them both to die. Hid like a coward in the Riverlands and tried to turn our people against us. Rallied traitors, thieves and witches to his side..."

His hand lay heavy on her shoulder, as he seemed lost in thought, continuing, "The people are right. I am mad, madder than even Aerys…. I'll crawl through a river of piss, shit and death to get him. So let Stannis come with men. An army of Others won't save him."

Aegon paused for a few moments, coming back to himself, "If we fall... I want you to leave with Jon. Go across the Narrow Sea, take Margaery, the child. And don't come back."

"We aren't going anywhere," Jon finally answered from the doorway.

He'd overheard the last few minutes of their conversation and Dany was right. Aegon's sins were not his own. If he were to atone for his wrong doings, they all would.

"The Lannisters march from Casterly Rock. They'll be here in a week's time."

_Go home_ they had whispered to him in his dreams. But where was home? If not here, then where? If Aegon was mad, they all were because they hadn't stopped him.

Lines were blurring from black to white, then gray. Ned had fought evil with righteousness and lost. He struggled with personal demons that were never absolved.

Taking his place next to the other two dragons Jon wondered if he was falling further from who he was or closer to whom he was supposed to be.

* * *

Much later, when Dany rose to leave, the tension in the room was almost stifling as neither she nor Jon was able to make eye contact with each other.

"She's very beautiful." Aegon offered.

Jon couldn't tell if Aegon was sympathetic or probing for something deeper.

"Yes."

"Then why do you not desire her?"

Probing.

"The Iron Islands?"

"No." He answered, shaking his head.

"For the better." They could have continued this awkward exchange for hours. Politely tip toeing around the thing that rested always between them. With her gone, things should have been easier, if they could only be how they were years ago.

"Do you love her?" He questioned, speaking of Dany.

_"So you would know love." _Jon could still hear the voice from his dreams. But it was just a dream.

"Same as you."

"I'm sorry, Jon." They needn't mention her name from both to know whom Aegon was speaking of.

"You broke no vow to me."

Rising to leave, Jon knew he should find Dany. He should try to explain things. Apologize for the outcome they both always knew was coming.

"She loves you."

When Jon didn't respond Aegon questioned, "Do you think he was crazy for running with her, for throwing it all away?"

They'd never really spoke of their father and Lyanna. It was irrelevant. The past couldn't be changed. But more than that, it was too personal for reasons beyond the obvious; things that bound them beyond the same father.

He wanted to hate him. Jon wanted to resent the hell out of Aegon for everything he'd done. Every mistake he'd made but he didn't.

"I think they were in love."

Aegon shook his head in agreement, seemingly pondering something else, "Would you have done it?"

Would he have? At any point in time, if given the opportunity, without knowing the possible outcome could Jon have done the same with Arya?

If he had known the pain he'd tolerate then, like he knew it now. "I'd like to think no, but yes... I would."

"Even if it ended the same? Even if she drove you to madness?" Jon realized that Aegon most likely thought the person he was considering was Dany.

"Yes."

"Then you see why I had no other option..."

* * *

The stables reeked of horses and stale ale.

"Are you sure of this information?" He questioned, politely holding his noise as the greasy out of work cook, poured himself another glass.

"Yes. I was there me self when it happened. She just disappeared in the middle of the night."

"And the children?"

"Gone as well."

"There were no men through the gates?"

"It's protected by magic. No army in the Seven could breach the gate."

"Then who?" Varys asked patiently.

"It was a ghost. Lord Baelish knew it too. A ghost that stole Lady Baratheon from her bed. Her brother and babe too."

Satisfied, he left the slovenly man with a good Dornish wine for payment. The cook's story was the second he'd heard of the mysterious disappearance of Lady Baratheon and little Lord Stark from Storm's End.

* * *

Walking into salty moist dungeons, Asha motioned for the guard to open the door. Entering the small musty space she kicked the prisoner on the ground.

"Get up."

He breathed heavy for moments before he finally rose on his knees. Between thick, greasy pieces of hair Theon Greyjoy looked up at his sister with such hatred it radiated throughout his body.

"Been well, brother?"

He spat at the ground next to her feet.

"Being captive doesn't suit you? Would you like a different type of captivity?" She leaned in, her mouth close to his ear, "Should I have the men from Black Wind come have their fun with you?" She kicked his leg, eliciting a low grown.

"You always were pretty, even as a baby," she mocked.

Asha had kept him here for months in filth, swimming in his own excrement, since she'd come to Pyke's shores. Stepping into Kraken Hall, Theon looked as if he'd swallowed his own piss when he first saw her. And then even more so, when the men followed her to subdue him.

He lay down here in the dungeons since. She could have killed him long ago, but though instead to let him suffer as she suffered. Only she wasn't quite perverse enough to force Theon to succumb to rape.

"Have you nothing to say, brother? Did you not miss me?"

He grunted in response, not bothering to even scream obscenities at her in the past few weeks when she sparingly visited.

"Good." Bending over him, she reached behind, keying the shackles that held him.

When the metal slacked against his skin, Theon brought his hands forward, rubbing at his wrists.

"You smell like piss. Clean yourself and meet me for dinner."

"Why?"

"We have plans to make."

"Plans for what?"

Leaving the cell, she left the door wide open. "War," she called, her words echoing throughout the long halls in the bowels of Pyke.

* * *

"I've thought of names."

The skin was taut over the swell of her bump pressing into Aegon's naked side.

"And what would those be?"

"I'd like to name our son Loras, after my brother."

"And if it's a girl?"

"It won't be." Reaching for his hand she pressed it against the top end of the swelling, tucked under her ribs, "My Septa use to say those women who carried high, carried sons."

As the war neared, Aegon found himself torn between two lives. He'd spend his days thinking of Arya. Wondering where she was, if she was safe. Would he find her someday? Did she think of him? He'd spent his nights recently, questioning how he was going to protect his family, ultimately driving him to stop spending his evening immersed in maps, but instead allowing his wife to come to him. The more round Margaery grew, the more undeniable it became that he had a responsibility to her, to that child. He had a responsibility to protect them all, Margaery, Jon, Dany, the realm and Arya, wherever she may be.

"What are you thinking about?"

She may not be the wife he loved or even the one he thought about, but she was the one he had. And despite himself he did care for her.

"Nothing."

They both knew it was a lie but it didn't need to be said. She was already the white elephant hovering in the corner of every room either of them entered. Margaery knew she should be praying to the Seven every night that they win the war. That she'd have a healthy son. But there wasn't time. Every spare moment she had for worship was spent begging to the gods that their ghost would disappear. That Arya would die and leave Margaery what she wanted more than the crown, the child or even to appease her family: Aegon.

"I love you," she replied crawling further into his lap, facing her husband.

Arya may have his mind, but Margaery, as she reminded herself, had his body. Soon her face would fade. The winter rose would be nothing more than distant memory. And then Margaery would get what she wanted most.

She kissed him before he could reply, not that he would. Aegon could make the effort. He was willing to be kind. To give Margaery whatever she required but that wasn't something he could.

What Margaery didn't understand, but Aegon always knew, was Arya was never going to fade away. He'd never tell her that he loved her because although Margaery may occasionally share his bed and have his child, Arya had his love.

If Jon Connington were alive, he'd no doubt be disappointed. Aegon wasn't always the man he'd been raised to be. Old Griff would have shamed him for marrying Arya Stark, hiring the Faceless Men, burning the Riverlands, becoming the Mad King. He wouldn't have understood. He would have tried to have stopped it.

But mayhaps where Old Griff would have disagreed, Aegon's real father would have understood. There was a price for love. Sometimes, there was a reason for madness.

* * *

Looking at the three of them, Jamie had half a notion to turn around right there and march his men back to Casterly Rock.

"_What the hell happened to the Iron Throne?"_ Was all he could think, as he approached the three. Seated level to each other, the king claimed the middle, looking out over the leaders from The Reach, Dorne and himself.

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

"Lord Lannister," the king greeted.

"_Dragons or not, we're dead_," Jamie thought, as he plastered a fake smile on his face, "Yes, My King."

"We welcome you."

* * *

The ground seemed to be sway beneath them, shaking as men march and align themselves. In the distance, a black mass moved, so vast in its size that it seems to go on forever. Standing together, looking out over the Wall, Dany grabbed their hands.

The sound of men blasted from below as they shifted into place, mounted horses. Thousands of swords rubbed against leather as they were unholstered. Hundreds of arrows slid against bow strings. But all of it only a rustle against the pounding of earth from hundreds of thousands of feet, not even a mile from the city.

A look passed between the three. Death had finally come for them.

"They'll never breach the walls."

Moving down into the pits, the dragons swayed restlessly side to side, their heads bobby in frustration against the noise.

"I don't want you on ground, at any time," Aegon ordered Dany. "I don't care what happens. Stay in the air. The ground isn't safe you. You're not trained."

Grabbing Viserion's reins, he turned to instruct Jon but found him missing.

"Where is he?"

Nodding her head in the opposite direction, he watched as Jon conversed with the one of the lesser lords making up the small group of bannermen loyal to Dragonstone, before mounting a horse.

Confused, Aegon pushed his way through throngs of soldiers.

"What are you doing?"

"Riding out with the men."

"No. We're going by air."

"You've made me Lord of Dragonstone. It's my duty to lead the bannermen to battle."

Less than two hundred men, the group was minimal and ragtag at best.

"Let them march with the Dornish."

"They're my men. I'll lead them."

Looking down from his horse, Jon looked like the Commander Aegon remembered serving with at the Wall.

There would be no convincing him. The group was insignificant next to an army of thousands. But it didn't matter to Jon. It never would. Instead of arguing, Aegon hesitated for a moment, then reached up, taking his brother's hand."Don't get yourself killed."

"I'll try not to."

Nodding in the direction of Daenerys, Jon finished, "Look out for her."

As Jon spurred his horse forward and rode out of the yard, Aegon prayed to the Seven that Ned Stark's idealism wouldn't get him killed.

Heading back to Daenerys, the two dragons mounted their beasts and headed to war. Little could they or anyone else, have known that this battle of Blackwater wouldn't end quickly. In a matter of days hundreds of thousands would lay dead outside the city's walls, their bodies piling two to three men deep in some areas.

* * *

(Day 8)

Outnumbered, the war raged for over a week as the Targaryens were pushed back further towards the bay. They were forced from the skies, onto the ground, as the mass of soldiers became no longer distinguishable from enemy or ally, making defeat look ever more certain.

"How many?"

The small room held Trystane Martell, Jamie Lannister, Jon, Dany, Ser Theodore Tyrell and a smattering of standing leaders of lesser houses.

"Most of my forces, King," Theodore answered, hesitated and then finished, "And there are others… Lord Mace and Garlan."

Margaery. Last he'd seen her was days previous when she wept and clung to his jerkin, making him promise he'd come back.

"When?"

"Lord Garlan, the day before last, Lord Mace was attacked in his sleep. We think it may have been in the confusion- a ban of looters."

"We need to press forward," Jamie argued, pointing at the map. "They've pushed us back to the bay. In days they'll breach the city's walls."

What they needed was a miracle. At this rate, Stannis Baratheon would be sitting on the Iron Throne, by the week's end. Grim faced, the few standing leaders looked at one another, understanding that for many of them this may be the last time they'd see one another alive.

* * *

Shivering in the dark, he murmured to himself in fevered delirium, for the hundredth time, "Cat, I promise… I'll come back for you."

The ground was hard and moist. Stalked like a wild animal on a hunt, Baelish hadn't been warmed by a fire in weeks. Curling into himself, he knew what had to be done. The fever had set in so intensely now that he could longer travel, his legs like lead, his vision scrambled.

Although he was hardly able to keep a clear thought in his head, there were things he knew. He must find Cat once more and if he didn't do this thing soon, it would be too late.

It took him an hour to whittle a small section of bark from the tree. Now, stuffing it between his teeth, he moved himself into the open, where the moon clearly lit his body. Shaking from head to toe, he sucked a noisy breath through his nose and brought his shaking hand, saddled with the blade, to his wrist.

It was this or death.

"Cat…" he thought, one last time before he pressed down against the red and green flesh, screaming in muted agony as his began to saw.

* * *

Their miracle came in the early hours of morning on the eleventh day of war. Black sails flickered and snapped in Blackwater Bay. They blocked out the horizon, as ships anchored yards apart. Looking out from along the city's walls, Daenerys smiled.

From the sea, the Iron men moved to the shores led by a woman.

She'd come.

* * *

By the time she saw Asha face to face, Dany didn't know whether she wanted to scream at her or kiss her.

"You look like hell," Asha quipped, eyeing the silver queen who hadn't slept in days, bathed in dirt and blood.

"You said no."

Smirking, Asha answered, "I picked the lesser of the two fools."

"Thank you."

They both knew why she'd come: to kill Stannis. And although she'd never say it, they both knew Asha loved Dany. She'd always love Dany. No matter how foolish or weak it made her. And that was maybe the greater of the two reasons why she had come.

* * *

"Did you know?"

They'd been beaten back and were now on the run. Where a day before their victory was certain, now the world seemed to be crumbling around them.

"No." Melisandre answered, looking out over the burning fires.

"Will we win?"

Would evil fail? Yes. Did that equate them winning? Melisandre was unsure. Something was shifting, beyond the men, the war; there was something else that was evolving.

"I can't be certain."

In exhausted rage, Stannis shook her hard, "Tell me what you see!"

"It won't be long."

Darkness was moving amongst the men, hiding from something, someone. Azor Ahai.

* * *

(Day 13)

They say there's no justice in life. Asha had never known a happy ending. But as she spotted Stannis on the field, crawling from his hole of safety, she smiled to herself.

"A reunion."

Seeing her, he healed his horse, dragging the beast forward, its hooves crushing fallen men, as soldiers grabbed at his cloak. Overwhelmed, by the few, he swiped at the Ironborn men but failed. Thrown, he was able to fend off one before he gathered himself to his feet, his eyes locked on his wife.

Asha's blade blocked his first blow as he greedily swung for her head. Moving left, they begin a struggle that lasted minutes until she had him disarmed. Wounded on his side, his weight rested on one knee as he looked up at her from the ground.

Drawing her arm back, the last thing Asha saw was the peculiar smile playing on his lips before a sharp twinge passed through her spine, above her navel.

"Goodbye wife," he called out.

Looking down, she touched the silver poking out between layers of leather. Then, as soon as it was there, it was gone, passing again through her middle and exiting out her back.

Bringing her hand to her face, Asha's fingers dripped with blood as she hit her knees.

Someone screamed her name in the distance. It was faint over the shouting and clashing of metal. But she knew it.

Dany's face was the last thing that passed through her mind as she fell forward into darkness.

Smiling to himself, Stannis's victory proved to be short lived. As he rose from the ground to congratulate Riddick, the soldier's head fell from his body. Before Stannis could look for an assailant a blade pressed against the nape of his neck.

* * *

From behind Jon was aware that Dany had dropped to her knees, next to Asha. Aegon yelled at him, men swelled all around them but it all sounded like a whisper, echoing in the distance.

"Let her die," Stannis taunted attempting to elicit a response but was disappointed as Jon remained unmoved, his blade etching into his skin.

He should do it. Cut him down, like a weed he was. Jon should split his body in half for the things he'd done.

Familiar shouts called out, amongst the sea of screams. Aegon's. Looking up, he found her. Like a ghost from Old Nan's bed time stories, her red hair blew in the sour wind as she calmly approached, holding her skirt as she stepped over bodies.

"Kill her!"

Melisandre ignored the men that rushed her, Aegon's demands as he stepped forward to do the job himself. With eyes fixed on them both she made no attempt to defend herself as men grabbed her arms and drug her the last few feet.

"Take him," Aegon ordered the men.

Holding Stannis tighter in response, Jon's blade had begun to draw blood, "We end it now."

"No." Aegon answered, "He'll answer for his crimes."

A look passed between him and Aegon.

"Don't make it so simple for him, Jon." Finally agreeing, he released his hold, surrendering Stannis to the men who dropped Melisandre at their feet.

From the ground, she looked up at them both in awe, "Azor Ahai."

"Get her out of here."

Taking her with Stannis, the red headed witch looked back at the brothers as they carried her away.

"It's you. I was right."

* * *

"Will you not help me?" She looked to the men, that had stopped and were now staring, not one moving forward in aide.

"Please!" She pressed Asha's face into her neck. "Don't worry. I won't let you die here."

Hot thick tears ran down her cheeks, blurring her vision, as she held her tight, as if she could somehow prevent life from leaving her body. None of the men moved, as all were too entrenched in the scene that was playing out, to be of any help.

When Aegon stepped forward, Jon's hand reached out, "No, let me," he answered, pressing through the small crowd.

"Anyone please! She needs to be moved," feeling helpless; she didn't care if they stared. Dany didn't care what they thought. In desperation, she looked up, again pleading for help and found Jon feet away, quietly approaching.

"Please, Jon, help me lift her."

Crouching next to her side, he took one look at the Asha Greyjoy and knew without a doubt, that she was dead.

"She's gone, Dany," he touched, Asha's face. "There's nothing we can do for her."

She wiped her cheeks, with the back of her hand, and replied, "We have to take her to the sea. She can't die like this. She needs to go to water."

"Okay..."

Understanding, Jon gathered the woman from her arms and lifted her from the ground. Pressing through a crowd of men he walked the long distance to the bay with Dany following behind.

* * *

Wadding into the water, Jon waited until he was waist deep before he relinquished his hold.

"Thank you."

Standing behind him, Jon placed the woman carefully into her arms, then watched as the mother of dragons turned from him and waded deeper into the breaking drift.

When she could go no further, she stopped, the water beating her slightly back. Brushing hair from Asha's face, Dany looked down at the woman who'd never known love from anyone but her and feared it more than any death.

"You were loved," she promised, washing blood and mud from her face. Alone, with nothing but the sound of the waves, she wept and held Asha for the last time.

"You were so very loved."

Minutes she fought against the water, afraid to let go, until finally, she did. Kissing her one last time, she murmured, "Go with him now..." releasing her body out to sea.

She might have stood out there for hours, shaking in the water, if he hadn't collected her.

"You've seen enough."

"I can walk."

"Shh..." Picking her up, they waded out of the bay.

* * *

When he told her of her father and brother, Aegon didn't know what to expect. When she slapped him hard enough to cause his ears to ring, he was shocked. Margaery had never been violent before.

She cried, pushing him towards the solar door.

"Margaery," he tried, "I'm sorry."

"Leave!" She screamed.

Part of him wanted to stay, to draw that rage out of her and feed on it. He wanted her to continue hitting him, calling him terrible names. Saying all the things Arya would have. He needed that fight. But he'd never get it from his sweet wife. As soon as her rage had come it was over. Clinging to him, she cried harder and apologized, begging for his forgiveness.

"I love you, Aegon."

"_Arya,"_ was all he thought, as he stroked her hair, comforting her.

He'd won the war but part of him didn't care.

"It's over," she choked out, "We can be happy now."

"_I may never be happy again_," he thought because he knew, he'd already burned paradise.

* * *

He'd sat with her all night as she slept, knowing he should have said something before.

She wasn't his, why did he feel like she was?

The entire night he'd considered it. Could they be happy? Did he love Dany?

By the early hours of morning they both knew she was awake but neither said anything for a long while as she lay in bed, he in the chair.

"I'm sorry, Dany."

"I know you are."

A long pause passed between them before she questioned, "What do you want from me, Jon?"

It took minutes for him to answer, before finally he did, "Nothing."

Jon could feel her disappointment, making him feel more like a bastard then he had ever been. He'd warned her, this would happen. That they would meet an inevitable end no matter what. But she refused to hear it. She'd stalked him relentlessly. Seeking something they both knew would never be hers because it wasn't his to give.

Sighing, he asked, "Dany what would you like me to say?"

He didn't mean to be cruel. Jon didn't mean to be anything. He loved her, just not in a way that was useful to either of them. It wasn't right, if they were different people, if he didn't know love, if he could forget, Jon could let it go. She'd stop haunting him in his dreams. Maybe then, everyone would find peace.

It wasn't the right time for this. She was grieving. Jon had heard rumors of her relationship with the Ironborn woman but never asked if they were true. Now there was no need. She loved her.

Without provocation, Dany cut through his thoughts, "Why do you seek misery?"

Inciting anger and annoyance before Jon could check himself, "I'm not an open book you can riffle through."

From the beginning she was demanding. Always standing a little close, asking questioned he didn't want to answer. Begging to dig herself under his skin into places she didn't belong.

"And if I did, what would I find?"

He was tired of it. Jon was tired of the lies and secrets that seemed to circle this god forsaken place.

"Loss."

Sharply, Daenerys returned, "You and everyone else. There's something more."

A life time of more…. What did she wish to hear? That he loved Arya? That it wasn't a choice? Jon could try until he died to find solace. It didn't matter how beautiful, witty, pleasing the woman be. It was never going to be right.

Borne from a relationship of foolish, selfish emotions, he'd be denied the only love he'd ever sought. It was punishment, atonement required by the Old Gods for his parents' sins. He was cursed.

How do you tell a person that?

As soon as the tension ebbed, she started, "I love you, Jon." She said it so softly, he thought she might cry, before she finished, "But you don't love me."  
"If it was that simple."

"It is…."

He'd wronged her. In a way that Ned Stark had taught him never to do. He sought something that now he knew he'd never find again.

"Did you love her? Asha Greyjoy?"

Asha... Dany's chest throbbed. Their affection so simple without need for explanation to each other or the outside world.

"Yes."

"If she had lived and things were different, if your husband had lived. Would we be here now?"

When she didn't answer, he continued, "What we did it was wrong."

"Only because you've decided it to be so."

By the way he looked at her, along with sea and Asha still salty on her skin, the House of the Undying came back to her from years ago, _"Mother of dragons, daughter of death." _The price she paid for power, she'd never have love that lasted.

Jon would never know what came over him. Maybe it was keeping secrets for too long. No one to tell all the things he'd kept so close.

"I'm married... Did you know that?" The words came before he could try to sensor himself. Almost two years and he'd never told a soul.

"_Jon, married? He was a man the Watch, honorable_," Dany thought. Maybe the only man, aside from Aegon, she'd ever known that was unmovable in his principles.

"When?"

"Years ago... no one knows. Not even Aegon."

"Dead? She's gone… isn't she?" Her words were clipped as she tried to recover from the shock.

"Yes… but close. Always close."

He cradled in head in hands, as he seemed to be somewhere private, the place she was never allowed to go to with him.

"Are you holding on, or letting go?"

He tried both and neither had worked, leaving him miserable.

Jon had never meant her any harm. "You deserve better," he finally answered.

"_I should have you_," Dany thought, but didn't say. She was the Queen of Westeros. Could have any man in the Seven, except for the one she wanted.

She knew the answer before she asked the question, but needed to hear it from him, "Will you ever wed again?"

"No."

"Will you love again, the way you did her?"

Without a word, he slowly shook his head NO. Confirming fears of what she'd known secretly all along.

Dany had no one to blame but herself. He was honest with her from beginning but it wasn't until now that she understood, they could never have a future.

He should feel relief, joy. They had won the war. But Jon felt nothing. The only thing worse than loss, was his growing apathy for life.

* * *

**Hey okay next chapter will have way more Arya in it. I had a bunch of King's Landing stuff I had to cover in this one. And I will try to crank the next one out much quicker. Thank you for reading! Hey do your thing... review. **


	29. Screams In The Night

Her eyes cracked open, as her tongue attempted to wet her cracked lips. Lying on the cold floor in the small room, Jeyne or "Arya", as they had called her for years, looked up at the small pieces of dim light that shown high across the top wall. It was almost evening. Her body shook and seized at the thought.

She couldn't take it. Not one more night. She'd surely rather die. Moving her foot, she moaned as pain shot up her leg. She didn't know it then, but they were broken- every single last toe. Her foot burned hot with agony and swelling.

"Please let me die," she whispered, wrapping the blanket tighter around her scrawny body. It was moments like these that she almost missed Roose. The beatings she used to take from him were gentle compared to the thrashings his son bestowed upon her. Roose was cruel but never so cleverly sadistic. He never hit with objects, only his hand. He never did the horrible things that made Ramsay smile at night.

It had been close to two years since the Roose was murdered and Ramsay Bolton darkened her doorway. If only, he would have let her die when the Starks came back to Winterfell. But Jeyne knew better than that. Ramsay would never make it so easy for her.

"Mother," he'd mockingly call her, as he did his horrible things to her. Walda Frey was lucky that she had died in childbirth. She'd never suffer her step son's wrath.

No, Ramsay would never kill her. That comfort she'd never have. He enjoyed toying with her too much. He'd keep her hovering on the edge of death for as long as he could. For as long as her pain still proved to amuse him.

* * *

Throwing a pheasant bone down on his plate, Ramsay leered at her a moment before stating, "You might be the ugliest woman I've ever seen."

Motioning to the side of her face, he questioned, "What in the hells is that?"

To her credit, Shireen seemed unaffected by his comments. Straightening her back, she answered almost pleasantly, "Gray Scale, My Lord."

He wrinkled his nose in disgust, before continuing, "I paid a good price for you. Thought you might be useful... seems both were a loss."

As the men turned to each other, they didn't bother to dismiss her as they continued to talk lewdly about her disfigurement and her father's failure in the southern lands, how he would surely lose and the war that had yet to be fought. Politely, Shireen stood with her hands tucked behind her back, her eyes looking straight ahead as if she were unaware of their comments.

"Since Stannis has failed, you've lost your value. And," his head craned slightly to see her dark spots, "since you are uglier than most men, you won't be much use either."

Taking a long moment, he seemed to be thinking before he sharply continued, "I'll have to find other uses for you, since you're mine, now."

There was a marked note of malice in his voice, those last few words hanging ominous in the room. Ramsay Bolton was said to be cruel, even more sadistic than his spiteful, cold and calculating father.

"Get down on your knees." The request was so out of context that Shireen, seemed to hesitate, as if she hadn't heard him correctly.

"I said on your knees!" He bellowed.

Immediately obliging, she dropped down to the cold stone floor.

"Now crawl to me."

When Shireen again froze in silent questioning, he barked his orders louder, scaring the girl into submission as she slowly made her way to his chair.

If the Ryswell's objected they made no effort to comment. From their seats they could feel her humiliation as she reached his side and he commanded her to lie down at his feet, like a dog. For the rest of the meal, she lay there uncomfortably, until finally he finished.

Shireen thought she may have suffered the brunt of his degradation until he rose from the great table and to her shock grabbed her by the hair, pulling her from the hall, like a dog on a leash.

* * *

The first time Shireen Baratheon saw what lay beyond the heavy wooden door, she wished she'd never known. Her hands shook as she carried the meager tray of scraps Ramsay had ordered her to deliver.

In truth, she already knew what she'd find before she found the body hovering in the corner. Her stifled screams could be heard throughout the hall, late at night. Screams that echoed Shireen's feelings every time Ramsay Bolton turned his rage on her.

The sound of her footsteps alone, cause the woman to press herself closer against the wall, as if she could disappear. Shaking like a leaf, her head was tucked between her bare knees.

"You don't have to be afraid."

The woman remained unmoved.

"I brought you something to eat."

The closer Shireen got, the more horrified she became. The woman's foot was swollen to twice the size of her other, the original color difficult to discern as the skin had turned black, green and blue. Up her legs and arms were other bruises, scratches and half moon, angry indentations. Upon closer inspection, Shireen went cold with fear, realizing they were bite marks.

Peeking her head out from under her arms, the woman looked at the tray and then to Shireen. With cracked lips and various bruises covering her face, it was clear that no part of her body had been spared. However, even in her wrecked state, Shireen could see that at one point, the skeleton before her was once a relatively beautiful woman.

"Are you hungry?" She tried again.

The woman didn't respond only continued to look at Shireen, examining her own faint bruises that peppered her face and neck.

Suddenly she burst out in laughter, crazy, hysterical laughter. Her body rattled and swayed as she continued- tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Are you okay?" Shireen panicked, looking back at the door, worried others would hear. That he would hear.

Gasping the woman answered, "He'll let me die now! He'll let me die. Thank you!"

Confused, Shireen reached out to touch her arm, attempting to comfort the wounded creature, "Shh... You won't die."

Her wide brown, blood shot eyes, looked up at Shireen as if they too were smiling, "Yes. Now he has you."

* * *

He didn't know how long they had been traveling, where they were going, or even the name of his companion. He'd told him. Maybe he'd forgotten.

Looking up at stripped branches, the black ruined bark seemed to stare down at him accusingly. It had turned cold, as light flakes fell from the gray sky onto his face.

"Where do we travel that it snows?"

Bundled in blankets, in the back of a wagon, Gendry tried to push himself up to sitting, but struggled. He knew not the total extent of his injuries, only that his left leg had been broke, below the knee, his right had a fair sized wound, as did his chest and that various part of his body were raw with burns.

"North, Lord Baratheon."

"Why north?"

"For various reasons, but as of late, because it may be the only place you are safe."

When he hissed at the sharp pain that shot up his leg, the man looked over his shoulder, "Careful, I'm almost out of the milk of the poppy."

"How long have I been asleep this time?"

"A week."

Last time he could remember talking to the strange man, they were somewhere that smelled of death and fire. It was weeks later that the man first told him how they had become traveling partners.

He'd discovered him, or rather stolen him from looters. The husband and wife having come upon him, near death, buried in ash as they ransacked the bodies of soldiers that lay rotting in fields south of River Run. They recognized his face, as a brother, planned to sell him back to the Brother's Without Banners until they took him further south to the still standing, at that time, Stony Sept.

_They'd thrown him in back like a sack of rotting potatoes amongst the other treasures they'd scavenged from the field of dead. His head lulled and bounced against the aged wooden wagon, till finally it dropped partially over the edge._

_Moving through the crowded streets, beggars, locals and misplaced persons fleeing south, filled the overrun city. By the time they'd stopped at the tavern, more than a few had eyed, the seemingly dead man, falling out of the back of the wagon. But only one would recognize his real identity._

_Flipping back the ratty blanket they used to cover him, Barent showed his prize off to his toothless friend._

"_We found him half dead. He fetch a nice price from the Brothers."_

_The observer squinted down at the blood soaked man, feverishly blinking his eyes then looked up in horror, "He's not a brother. You've found you a Baratheon."_

_The looter rubbed his chin, inspecting the find, "Ye sure?"_

"_Sure as I am of me self."_

"_How would ye know?"_

"_They came through here, not a few years before. A party of em', caused a stir in the tavern, they called him Lord Baratheon. He was a Brother. Bastard of King Robert, now Lord of Storm's End."_

"_I'll be damned... Moll!"_

_The plump woman waddled to her husband's side, "I hear ye, what ye want?"_

"_Jerry here says we got ourselves a Lord."_

_Moll eyed the piece of shredded, unconscious, meat, "Ye sure?"_

_Jerry nodded enthusiastically._

"_Well damn. We can't sell him now."_

"_Why not? Who's to stop us? Him? He's half burnt up. Surely there's a Lady be givin a good price for her Lord husband."_

_Jerry, smiled, "Or a king, willing to give a ransom for traitor."_

"_Well if we don't get him out of this cart and to a Maester, we got nothin to bargain with. Here, lift his head."_

_It was days later that Jorah had overheard the couple arguing over their discovery in a tavern, giving a man of poor luck his first break in years. _

Jorah Mormont had been traveling for close to 8 moons, by the time he'd stumbled upon Gendry's misfortune in the Westerlands.

It had been over ten years since he had last seen the shores of Bear Island but when word crossed the Narrow Sea of a new king of the North, he had hope for the first time in what seemed like forever, that he might see it again. He'd travel to Winterfell and plead his case for a pardon. Hope that the new king would be more merciful than his father. Only he hadn't had a case until now.

Finding Gendry Baratheon, broken, unconscious and carelessly left unattended, proved to be a sign from the old gods- even for what little he believed in them.

It was sibylline. He'd take the Lord, north to Winterfell, trade him to his sister's family for a pardon and finally return to Bear Island.

* * *

Jojen looked up at the tattered banners of House Dustin and felt a cold chill run through him. It was here. He could feel it, the thing that had been drawing him to this God forsaken place for years. He could hear her screams at night for too long. The sound of her nails scratching themselves bloody against stone floors.

Close to seven years he had visions of what lay hidden behind these walls. He'd avoided it too long, hoping it would eventually stop that she'd disappear. But it was all in vain- her cries growing louder in his thoughts.

Why him? He wondered. Jojen was no one special. He wasn't a knight, or yet, even head of his own house: Howland Reed, only still barely alive. Should he not be more concerned with soon heading Grey Water Watch, the Bolton rebellion?

But she called- her abused, faceless body, screaming for him to help her. No one else would understand. He had to come and do so alone. He was always alone in the visions.

The House Dustin had fallen under the Ryswells with Barbey Dustin not long dead- no children to succeed. Bolton supporters crawled around this area.

Tucking his blade close to his side, he had no sure plan how he would enter into this house, what he would say or even what exactly he was suppose to do.

But she called and her screams had to stop.

* * *

As they moved into city at night, they could hear screams and yells from the docks. Inside the gates men eyed them as they passed.

"Who are they?"

"Men of the City Watch," Tyrion answered as both women bowed their heads lower under their cloaks.

Saddling her horse next to Tyrion's, Sansa questioned, "Are we safe here?"

"Yes, no one will know. Rosemund is south in Dorne. Takyrien is east in King's Landing."

It seemed that at each corner they turned, there were more armed men.

"Keep your head down," he urged No One as she was bold enough to look up.

"A few of these men are from the King's Guard. They fled when the dragons came. They may recognize one of you."

Little would any of them know that they were being watched, even then. They had been discovered long before they had reached Lannisport.

* * *

Jojen Reed would never forget the moment he first saw Shireen Baratheon. It was strange to think that days before he had sat at the King of the North's table, discussing battle plans, troop movements and now, a grown man, soon to be head of House Reed, he scrapped all manner of foul smelling things from the bottom of pots.

It was by luck that he had gained access to the kitchen. It was by misfortune that they couldn't find a grown man a better position than cleaning dishes, assisting the cook and serving Roger Ryswell his meals.

In the time since he had entered the House of Dustin- now Ryswell, he found no trace of the woman he seen so many times he could draw her figure, not face, from memory. Spiking his frustrations was the game of cat and mouse he now played with Ramsay Bolton whom was seeking secret shelter in the Barrowlands.

The House Stark no longer need question where he hid. Jojen nearly left that very same night, rode to Winterfell, ended this rebellion giving his friend and sister peace. But as soon as he thought to leave, her screams filled his ears, begging him to search on.

And so he did, with still the same result. She was a ghost, so very near. But nowhere to be found, until two nights passed and by chance he met another hidden secret, kept inside the festering walls of the Barrowland's seat.

Jojen had heard once that Stannis Baratheon had a child, a girl and that she was hidden somewhere in the north. Like Ramsay, her whereabouts were no longer a question. At nine and ten Shireen Baratheon was neither particularly beautiful nor hideous. Instead she was decidedly plain.

From his hiding spot by the hall, he watched as the brothers Ryswell and Ramsay Bolton ignored the woman that crawled behind him like an animal and lay obedient by her feet.

He may have thought her to be a slave, sold from across the Narrow Sea if he had not her whispers of her name in the kitchen. They called her the Shamed Princess, the one forgotten. She had been bought from the men that protected her in the North, sold in secret to Ramsay Bolton before her father marched to King's Landing.

Jojen need not ask why Ramsay Bolton had gone to great lengths to purchase the woman. She was an insurance policy. In case her father won Westeros, as a way to ensure his loyalty and most likely his support to overthrow the Starks. Even with the brief glimpse Jojen got of her in the dining hall, he felt for the young woman. Bruised and humiliated, she'd been reduced to less than human, with her father fallen. And no one seemed to care.

In those first few days that he stayed in the House Dustin, he could hear screams reverberating throughout the hollow halls- cries of someone desperate to die. When he rose from his meager mat, exploring in the dark, he searched what he assumed to be the woman of his dreams, but never did he find her. Who was she, which had haunted him for too long?

"_Was it Shireen Baratheon_?" He questioned as she looked at her limp figure that day in the hall.

His instinct said no. But still he felt compelled to help her and reach out to the abused woman. But why? Why was he even here? What called him to this horrible place? When would he find it so he could leave?

* * *

Opening the shutters, No One looked out over the port and felt disgust as she looked at Casterly Rock, looming in the distance.

Having sent a Maester to look over Rickon, the elderly man had left after an hour, pronouncing that the boy, although weak, had a fair chance of recovering.

Looking down at her sister, whom rubbed salves on the Rickon's wound, after forcing the barely conscious boy to drink brewed tea to bring down his fever, it struck No One that their time was soon up.

"Your brother has responded."

Both women looked up in anticipation.

"He requests that you come North as soon as possible but not to Winterfell."

"Let me see the letter," Arya interrupted.

Holding it out for her, he continued, as she read silently to herself.

"They still haven't put down the Bolton Rebellion, so he fears travel to Winterfell would be unsafe."

"So instead he chooses Bear Island?" No One interrupted.

"For how long?" Lines creased in Sansa's brow, most likely thoughts of the long travel by ship with babies and a sick child.

"Until it is safe to go to Winterfell," No One answered, agreeing with Bran. Sansa would not be bothered on Bear Island. They'd be safe amongst the Mormont women.

"Tyrion, may I speak with you in private?"

When Sansa lifted an eyebrow in question, No One answered, "As to not wake Rickon further," before exiting the room with the small man.

They had barely stepped out of ear shot before she bluntly questioned, "What reward is it that you seek to gain?"

"There is no-"

"Quiet. I wish to know now, that I may pay it in full so my sister owes you no debt."

"Why now?" Tyrion questioned, cocking his head to the side.

"If she is to leave in a few days, I do not want her going from this place owing a Lannister anything."

"If she goes will you not being also leaving our shores, going north?"

Ignoring his questioned, she repeated, "The debt, what is it?"

"Nothing, I only wish that our houses will no longer be at odds with one another. You have been wronged, your family, I've repaid the debt."

No One was still unsatisfied with his answer, but could sense something, that there was a need for urgency, that she needed to be gone, sooner rather than later. They had already been there days. She'd prolonged it long enough and there were things to attend to first.

"The Lady of Tarth will see Sansa and the children north?"

"Yes, as Lady of Storm's End, Brienne owes fealty and loyalty to Lady Baratheon and no one else."

Hesitating, No One studied the small man who knew she had no reason to trust him but strangely she did. Holding her hand out in offering, she finished, flatly, "I thank you then for the kindness you have shown."

A wry smile appeared on Tyrion's lips before he took her hand in his shaking it as if they were old acquaintances.

"You will not go with your sister, will you?"

Whatever brief glimpses of easiness that had passed between them moments before was gone as No One dropped his hand, "No. I have other business to attend to."

Something in the tone of her voice, peaked the small man's curiosity but he resisted address it, "Will you be needing passage as well?"

"No, I can make my own way."

"I do not think it is wise for you to travel alone in times like these."

"I'll be fine."

Against his better judgment, Tyrion nodded his head. "Then let me be the first to wish you safe travel. If you should ever need anything…."

"I won't."

* * *

He had been there a week when she had first acknowledged him. Jojen thought he hid in silence, that no one had seen him buried amongst the tapestries in the periphery as he listened to their talk. But from the floor, as sure as he was of the thing that had drawn him there, he knew that Shireen Baratheon was aware of his presence.

As she lay by Ramsey Bolton's feet, her face pressed to the floor, she looked up at him briefly, her eyes meeting his when her master wasn't looking. It was less than a few seconds but she smiled at him, a small smirk playing at her lips before she turned her head downward, cowering next to Ramsay as he ate.

She was so unnerving that Jojen removed himself when given the first opportunity. A woman that crawled behind a man like Ramsay Bolton, like she as less than human, looked at him like she knew all of his secrets. She saw what other men, trained to be soldiers, ever vigilant, couldn't see.

It was then that Jojen understood, without a word, that she was smart, so much smarter than the other men.

He'd never know how smart until she woke him one night, not days later, while he slept on his palate in the kitchen. Squinting up at her split lip and bruised skin, he knew not whether to be afraid or comforted by her face peering down at him.

But when she whispered, "You've come for something. Why are you here?" He followed her without question and for reasons beyond logic answered her without hesitation.

He didn't know why but the woman that lowered herself to be less than a dog for Ramsay Bolton- was nothing remarkable, or even noticeable, drew him in like a siren calling sailors to a shore.

Ultimately, she would be what led him to the thing that had brought him here: the woman that called to him in his dreams and waking thoughts. Shireen Baratheon would prove to be what finally gave Jojen Reed the peace that had eluded him for years.

"I want to show you something," she whispered as he followed her through the long winding halls that led past the dungeons in the great house. When she came to thick wooden door, she paused, laying her hand flatly across the handle, "Hold your nose."

Jojen knew not why she made such a strange request, but when he walked into the cold, small prison, he wished desperately that he had listened. Urine and excrement hung heavy in the air, making it impossible to breathe without tasting the sadness in the room. Face down in the corner, there laid a body covered in the dirt and blood.

"Arya," Shireen whispered, approaching the woman. Placing her hands between her shoulder blades, she gently rolled the body so it was face up.

"I've brought someone to see you."

Although the form was breathing, it made no noise. Jojen chocked on vomit, as he looked at the mangled skin, covered in bruises, bite marks, wounds and other indistinguishable damage. Parts of her, in the dim light, appeared black, as though they were rotting from the bone.

Pulling the woman closer to her chest, Shireen continued, "He's come for you."

Jojen need not ask any further to know that she was the woman from his dreams. Her nails were torn from her fingers, traces of blooded inked into the stone floors and walls. It was Arya Stark… or the woman they claimed to be so. The female that had married the late Roose Bolton, giving the family access to Winterfell and later been proven a fake.

"Is she alive?"

Shireen looked up from the woman she cradled in her lap, her eyes saying it all, "Just barely," without a word.

"He plans bring the king south," Shireen whispered, "I heard them at meals. He means to bring him here to reclaim his runaway sister."

Looking at the half dead woman, he knew not only was she not the runaway queen, but that Ramsay had no intention of her being taken from this place. Lying limply against Shireen's body, it appeared that both her legs had been broken if not severely injured.

The woman that had called to him for years was near death, as he had seen her. Who knew if he could help her now?

"Is she not what you've come for? You could save her," she urged.

Looking at Shireen, it was obvious that whatever fate had fallen upon this sad woman was soon to be her own.

Could he save them both?

* * *

Staring down at the bull helm, No One had been deciding what to do with it ever since she had taken it off Dunsen's hands that day by the river. Originally she had thought to cast it into the current or leave it for the beggars. But something forced her, against her better judgment, to save it.

Holding it in her hands now, she had the same urge to dispose of it, give it away, to cover up her trail of lies and deceit, burry their dirty secret. Leave her sister untainted by things that happened in dark, musty, helpless places. But she knew she couldn't. It was too late for that now.

She could feel that as Cat lay swaddled in her arms during weeks of travel, pressing into her the weight of her decision. She could give Sansa nothing else, especially not the truth. Gendry would never be coming home because she'd murdered him.

The metal slipped under her slick hands as she held it before Sansa's confused gaze.

"What is it?"

"It was Gendry's, from a long time ago, when I knew him on the King's Road. Someone took it from him. But it was his. And he loved it."

"I don't understand…"

"He made it, when he used to work in the forge. He wore it often before…. He would have wanted it back."

She eyed the thing closely before answering, "How do you have it?"

"Luck," No One answered shortly, as she always did, before continuing,"I thought that maybe Robb… when he's older. He may want it. Something to remember him…."

As soon as it slipped off her tongue, Sansa changed, looking down at the pieces of a tattered shirt that lay in her lap, "He isn't dead, Arya."

Sansa's denial of Gendry's death had become ever more frequent, the more distance she'd put between herself and Littlefinger.

"Just the same…" she responded, her eyes avoiding Sansa's.

Looking up at her sister and the helm, Sansa didn't move to take it from her, but instead slowly asked the one thing No One feared, "You know something, don't you?"

"Take it, Sansa," No One repeated, thrusting it closer to her sister's lap. But she was unresponsive; avoiding the crafted metal like it was poisonous.

"No."

Swallowing, Sansa leaned back in her chair, looking through the door to the other room that held the sleeping children.

"I want to hear the truth, from you. No more lies. No more secrets. I've been patient long enough. I've never asked you, before- there are things… I understand there are things you wish to keep private. But I want to know where you got that thing... a-and… what you know of my husband."

No One's hand was almost shaking, "Take the helm, Sansa and let it be."

A long stare passed between the sisters.

Bolder this time, she repeated, "On our parents memory, you will tell me what I ask."

"Don't ask questions for which you don't wish to know the answers. I'm warning you, Sansa." The tension was thick enough in the room from the impending conflict of wills, that the intake of air was almost labored.

Trying again, "Where did you get that thing?" Sansa repeated, her tone matching No One's, her face eerily blank.

No One didn't hesitate as she destroyed the thin glass wall of lies and omission that lay between them, "I killed the man that took it from him."

Taking in a long slow breath, Sansa questioned, "When?"

"Before we reached the Stony Sept."

"And... Ilyn?" Her heart was pounding in her chest as she looked at her little sister whom was little no longer and more a stranger than the people they passed on the streets of Lannisport.

"It was Adonis, tasteless."

"Where did you learn how to use poisons?"

"A wise man."

"And to kill men without remorse?"

"Places you'll never have to see."

A bitter taste filled Sansa's mouth, as her suspicions became truth. Arya would never again be her playful sister. That woman was dead, something dark, cold and calculating in her place.

"My husband... where is he?"

"Dead in the Riverlan-", Sansa was interjecting before she could finish, "You don't know that."

By the look on No One's face, she knew with certainty that she did and suddenly it was true. The unanswered letters meant nothing. Baelish's threats were only that: threats. But Arya's face, her unwavering stare, made it real.

The tears came so quickly, that Sansa hadn't even realized she was crying when she accused, "You did it. Didn't you?"

How else could she know with such certainty?

There was no reason for Sansa's accusation. It didn't make sense that Arya would harm Gendry or even lie to her about his death. Why would she hurt her like this? It wasn't logical, but she didn't need any of that. Sansa was could feel it. Arya had killed him.

No One's silence spoke in deafening volume.

"I don't ever want to see you again. You are not my sister. You are not Arya Stark. You are evil, shrewd and heartless." Sansa spoke to her as if she were less than a mangy dog.

No One had expected this, knew if they should ever have this conversation that this would be its ending. It was unfair, cruel. But this was the price she paid for revenge. The sacrifice she made to keep Sansa and Rickon innocent.

"I'll be gone by first light."

When she turned to leave, Sansa called out her voice shaking with emotion, "You'll reap what you sow. Someday, you will pay your debt for the things you've done."

"I already am."

* * *

Jojen Reed slipped from the House Dustin, with the half dead woman slung over his lap. He didn't have long, but he couldn't help himself. She wasn't what he had come for, but he couldn't leave her. With Shireen pressed behind him, they rode quietly from the House Dustin's yard, both of them praying they wouldn't be caught. That no one would notice them till morning, at which time they'd be only hours away from Winterfell.

She'd insisted that he go without her.

"I'll only slow you down." She whispered, helping him lift the woman's body onto the horse.

"I can't leave you here, not with him."

"I'll be fine." She answered, her voice reassuring, but her face shadowed with doubt.

When he offered his hand, she looked at it, cautious of his kindness for moments before she finally accepted, gripping it tightly as she slid behind him.

"There's more to life than this, Lady Baratheon," he answered, pulling the girl closer into his lap. Little did Jojen know that there was more to both of their lives. That he had saved Shireen Baratheon from tortured and eventual death for both of them.

* * *

She stood in the doorway of the small nursery, how many Lannister bastards had slept safe and secure inside these four walls? Cat's, red curly hair, peaked out from under the blanket; the baby fast asleep by the foot of Rickon's bed.

They'd be safe now. They were going north, the only place that could ever be home for Stark children.

The door that led to Sansa's solar, was left ajar, filling the room with the gentle rhythm of rocking. It was late into the evening, hours since they had last spoken but still she stayed awake, consumed in her grief. She was the picture of their late mother, silent in her sadness, unwavering in her resolve.

"Goodbye," No One whispered to the room of sleeping children, knowing it would likely be the last time she saw any of them ever again.

* * *

She'd leave in less than an hour. Soon the sun would be up. No One would disappear again across the Narrow Sea. Pass this thing from her body and finally be rid of the past.

Sinking slowly into the hot tub, the water burned her skin pink. First went her shoulders, slipping under the surface, then her chin, nose and finally closing her eyes, her head.

Floating, limbs relaxed, her mind wandered as the water pulsed around the sound of her heart.

Thump.

Flickers of images: Winterfell, fresh snow.

Thump.

Robb yelling and laughing; her father's voice.

Thump.

Jon, standing under the Heart Tree.

Thump.

"_Just let me love you." Aegon._

Thump.

"_I'll follow you, into the dark." Jon whispered._

Thump. Thump.

"_Even if he had lived, I would have found you." Aegon._

Thump. Thump.

"_What we did was unnatural." Jon._

Thump. Thump.

The way Jon looked at her as she walked out of the Sept of Baelor.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

_Dany's lips, flush after kissing Jon._

Thump. Thump. Thump.

_Margery's hands when she touched Aegon in secret. _

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Her heart was racing as her warm memories darken one by one. The pounding so loud, it was deafening, until she could feel the water shake around her in subtle vibration. The noise….

It wasn't her heart.

Arya's eyes snapped open, her hand shot out of the water for her knife. But it was too late. Leaning over the tub, he looked down at her, his face cold. As her torso jerk up, it was met by his hands, shoving her back down.

Arya's arms thrashed, her nails clawing at his gloves holding her in place. Her screams muffled by the water, bubbling to the surface as soft murmurs. He smiled, gripping her tighter as her legs kicked and missed, slammed against the sides of the tub. Fingers scrapped at his face, arms, anything in reach but he remained was unaffected.

Like a kitten scratching a Lion.

Her head smacked against the copper as her lungs began to burn, screaming for air. The metallic taste of blood filling her mouth as it poured out of her nose. Her limbs were slowly getting heavy, her head rolling to center, searching for her attacker as he stole the last few moments of life from her.

Through a haze of pink water, she took one last look at the unfamiliar man but knew who he was without question. The Faceless Men had found her.

* * *

He'd laid in his own bed that night for the first time in over a week. With Margery curled around him, he stared up at the ceiling unable to sleep. Somewhere, in the bowels of the Keep, he sat chained to a wall. The man that had held Arya, allowed his men to rape her. The leader who beat his wife and undoubtedly Jon near death, rallied houses against them, sent men to kill Margery and his unborn child.

By the time he walked pass the guard in the dungeons, he didn't know whether he came to kill him, himself or just to see his face. To look into the eyes of evil and see if he saw himself, his own evils staring back.

With his arms spread and chained to the wall, Stannis Baratheon's head hung low between his shoulders, his knees crumpled beneath him.

Closing the heavy metal door, Aegon leaned against the frame as he looked down at the sad man. He'd fought for the crown, played the game of thrones and lost.

"Have you finally come to kill me?"

Although he didn't look up, he seemed to know it was him without announcement. When Aegon didn't answer he continued, "Or are you too afraid? Have you ever killed a man with your bare hands?"

"No. But with a blade plenty of times."

"Then do you come with one?"

"No."

"Then why do you come?"

When Aegon didn't answer, Stannis mocked, "Is it for her? Do you come to reclaim her honor?"

Aegon stiffened as he continued, "She told you, didn't she?"

His head rose to make eye contact, "But did she tell you the whole truth? I'm guessing not."

Gaining confidence, Stannis squatted on his legs, bowed his chest out. "Did you come to hear how your wife moaned like a whore when they fucked her, one by one?"

Aegon lunged forward his hands on Stannis's throat, slamming him back against the wall. His face turned from white to red, as he gasped out in a whisper, with a smirk, "Not half as loud as your brother when they took him."

In shock, Aegon dropped his grasp, a new wave of nausea rolling through him.

Jon.

Coughing, Stannis continued, "Lady Targaryen, Arya, is that her name? She didn't share that part, did she?"

Lunging for his throat again, Aegon yelled, "You will not say her name!" Even chocking, Stannis looked up at him, red faced, eyes bulging, smiling. This is what he wanted: a short death. To be strangled in the dungeons or cut straight through, instead of public humiliation or torture.

Aegon again released his grip.

"Can't finish the job?" He rasped in challenge. "Are you just as weak as your brother?"

"You will stand trial for your crimes against the Seven. We will decide your fate then."

"The Mad King seeks justice?"

He watched as Aegon's jaw noticeably tightened at the title. "The Seven seeks justice for your crimes."

"That's why you've come…" Relaxing against the wall, Stannis continued, "You're still foolish enough to think that they will someday love you? Not hate you as they do, or seek revenge for your burnings?"

Silence filled the cell.

"You are not fit to rule. You can't even keep track of your own house, your own brother or wife."

Grabbing his face, Aegon removed the valerian steel from his waist and held it to Stannis's mouth.

"A man needs not his tongue to answer for his crimes. You speak of her again and I will cut it from your mouth."

Releasing his hold once more, he felt more unsettled now than he was before.

"If you take out my tongue, you'll never know truths."

"I have no need to hear your lies."

"Then I'll spare you them and the truth as well. Let you continue to be made a fool," Stannis threatened, smiling again to himself.

"Only the words of a desperate man, chained to a wall, awaiting death," Aegon answered, moving towards the cell's door.

"The beatings she took were not her own, they were his."

Aegon slowed mid step.

"It was 60 in total, enough to kill a man and she took them without hesitation."

"As would I for Jon or anyone who would rather die for, than slain their own brother."

"He sold his body for her... so that she may have not been touched. It didn't work of course, but still an indignity that not even the most honorable of men would suffer for their own wives."

Horrifying images filtered through Aegon's mind. Things he didn't wish to know. More suffering committed because of him. Blurring out the greater message that Stannis was subtly trying to impart.

"You will never speak of my brother again."

Stannis smiled to himself. Such little he had left now. Melisandre was wrong, he wouldn't win. He'd die, like fool, tortured and ridiculed.

He'd done it all for nothing. Sold whatever honor he'd ever had or sense of justice, for the crown that would never be his. It was the final, in a long line, of insults he'd suffered through, in his life.

"You think you're so noble. Is that not why you have come down here? You wish to prove to yourself that you are not me. That you are honorable, fair- just? You need to know that you would not do the things that I have done.

When you laid waste to thousands of homes and innocents, you did it for a greater purpose?

That your wife will not turn against you? That you would not kill your brother if he coveted what was yours? That cruelty and spitefulness are not part of you? So you can sleep at night with your own lies."

"I am not you, Stannis. I need not come here to know that," Aegon spat.

"Then it seems you are the fool and not I."

* * *

"Arya?"

Sansa had been sleeping when she woke to distant banging and the splashing of water. At first she worried for the children. Jumping from the chair she raced to their room to find them asleep.

And then she heard it again. The faint knocking, accompanied with the uneven sound of water splashing carelessly on stone.

With her hand braced on the door, she stopped.

Damn Arya.

The thought of her sister brought with it acerbity that make her hands shake with betrayal and rage.

Something had happened to Gendry and she hadn't stopped it.

When she turned to leave, soft muffled murmurs stopped her. She hated her. She never wished to see Arya again.

But still she loved her sister.

Damn Arya.

Without further hesitation Sansa pushed open the door and felt her heart stop in shock.

Hovering over the tub, his arms shook with force as he held the body in place- under water.

"Arya!"

The man turned, a scar on his face running from his eyebrow to chin. In less than a second he looked to the fading woman whom he held under water and then to Sansa, making his decision. Releasing, No One, he turned to Sansa when she screamed, "Brienne! Brienne! Help me!"

She hardly knew that she had even done it, but as soon as the words left her mouth, her hands were searching through the folds of her dress, fumbling for the dagger Gendry had gifted her.

It didn't matter, if she found it. She was as good as dead.

As the assassin took one step forward to strike Sansa, No One's body floated to through the water. Flashes of darkness and light, flickering pass her eye lids until her lips hit the surface and by physiological instinct sucked in air.

Screams… someone was screaming.

No One's eyes snapped open, her hands gripping the edge of the copper tub.

Sansa.

On the ground, a knife lay feet from Sansa's hands, the assassin moments from finishing her. In what felt like an eternity, No One grabbed Needle. Rising, streams of pink water slid off her body as she stepped out of the tub, causing the assassin to forget the easy kill.

The real fight had begun.

On the floor, Sansa's reached for the blade she'd dropped, as Arya and the man took a swing at one another. She could have been laying there for seconds or hours; time lost all context, while she watched in horror as man pressed Arya against the basin.

Both bodies shook with force as No One pushed with all of her strength against his blade, threatening to cut into the exposed flesh of her throat.

Fending him off for moments, he flew against her again, causing both to struggle on the floor as footsteps pounded down the hall.

Bursting into the room, Brienne dropped to Sansa's side.

All movements had stopped.

"My Lady, are you hurt?!" She turned Sansa on her back, searching her body.

"Arya…" Sansa reached for her sister who lay yards away, crumpled on the ground with the attacker.

More footsteps followed as the house was woken.

Tryion had dropped his book and ran for the door of his solar, the moment Sansa's first scream pierced through the long halls of the house. On small legs, he was slower than Brienne but well ahead of any guard in the house. Panting as he reached the door, he didn't even have time to enter before men rounded the corner plowing down the halls to the source of the commotion.

"Stop! I'll handle this," he wheezed, his hand outstretched.

"My Lord, we heard screams."

"All is fine men, I'll handle it from here."

In truth he didn't know what the hell he was walking into. But he couldn't risk anyone else knowing Lady Targaryen was there.

Quickly moving into the room, at first all he saw was Sansa laying on the floor, Brienne hovering over her.

"What in the Seven-" his words were cut short as his gaze followed the two women's.

Lifting the man off her, a naked No One rose slowly from the ground. Wet hair plastered against her neck and back. Blood, the intruders or hers, was spread thickly over her bare breasts and midsection, dripping down the steel of her blade onto the ground.

Propriety called for Tyrion to avert his gaze. But he couldn't. It wasn't her breasts, hips or thighs that his focus was trained on. It wasn't the dead man that lay at her feet in a puddle of blood. Tyrion's eyes were fixed on the same thing as Sansa and Brienne's: the growing bump that was no longer a secret.

* * *

**Questions:**

**No, the Faceless Man Arya killed was not Jaquen. No Aegon did not hire the Faceless Men to kill Arya, only find her. There is a reason why this guy was off script. That reason will be covered in the next chapter.**

**Other characters- I've brought Shireen, Jeyne and Jojen into this chapter for significant reasons. I know sometimes I bring characters into chapters and I'm sure everyone is wondering, "WHAT THE HELL DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?!" I promise, they have purpose in the story. Similar to how I brought in Asha or the Lannisters and at the time it seemed like a tangent, these characters, along with Jorah all are part of the bigger picture with our original characters. They are not just there to be chapter fillers. I hate when writers do that.**

**Someone asked me how many more chapters to go. Oh, gosh… I think in my mind 6. However, with that being said I thought the first 12 chapters were only going to be 5 when I originally planned the story. And this chapter was meant to include quite a bit more, but it was getting to lengthy so I had to cut stuff and move it to the next chapter. So um, I don't know. Hope you can hang around for the ride.**

**Hey, thank you for reading. I tell you guys this all the time, but I'm still extremely flattered that people take the time to read and care about this story. Do me a favor. I know it takes me a week or so to update but motivate me… Please review, if you are so incline. Thanks!**


	30. Goodbye Isn't Forever

**Hey so sorry its taken me so long to update. Promise I'll try to be better. Those of you that have PMed me about changes in old chapters, I'll clear that up now. When I first started writing this story back in June, I never had time to go back and edit. A few weeks ago, while writing this chapter I found a cache of parts from old chapters that I'd cut. Some of these scenes I've added to the story. They don't change the story at all, they only enrich the characters.  
**

**Sorry for the confusion.  
**

* * *

**Shireen**

Hovering by her bed, Shireen Baratheon was wearing the same pained look she had for days. Never leaving "Arya's" side, she took to the broken woman like she was her own sister.

When they'd arrived, they thought for sure she'd die before the sun rose that first day. But Jeyne held on, hovering at the precipice of death.

Finally by the end of the second day, Shireen could take it no more.

"We must bathe her."

"No," Jojen answered, with each insistence. Arya had already been through too much. She'd suffered enough pain. The least they could do was allow her to die in peace.

"I didn't ask your permission," Shireen replied calmly, as women carried the heavy soaking tub into the room. Trip after trip they poured boiling hot water into the copper basin.

"No, her skin... it will too painful." The Maester had been in and out of the room half a dozen times that day and all with the same prognosis, "Wait."

Wait for death.

Jeyne was too far gone for any intervention. All they could do was make her comfortable, plying her with Milk of the Poppy.

"She won't feel it... and... she would want it," Shireen insisted.

"Did she tell you that?"

Since he'd found Jeyne and before, he felt an indescribable need to protect her, advocate for her, almost as much as Shireen.

"It's what any woman would want."

Full, steam from the tub made the room unbearably warm and uncomfortable. If he didn't leave soon, he felt as if he may faint, but Shireen wouldn't budge.

"If you've already made up your mind, then what do you need me for?"

Her cheeks flushed pink as she cleared her throat, "I-I need you to help me. She can't sit herself up; someone has to get in the bath with her. And, well... I need someone to help me bathe her."

"Can you not ask one of the servants?"

"No," pulling back the sheet that covered Jeyne, she finished, "I don't want them- anyone, to see her like this."

Since coming to Winterfell, no one tended to Jeyne and her wounds other than the Maester and Shireen. She refused to let anyone else get close, guarding the helpless woman from gossips and prying eyes.

Glancing up at Jojen, she looked as if it was her lying in that bed, "A Lady should be able to keep her dignity," she explained, before reaching for her hand, gripping it tight. Maybe Shireen hadn't been bitten, but she'd been abused and knew all too well that a similar fate would have eventually been hers.

Overcome by the thought, Jojen caved, "Okay."

With his back turned, he waited for Shireen to slip out of her dress and shift, down to her small clothes and crawl into the bath. At first she shyly covered herself as the water quickly soaked through the cotton, leaving her practically naked. Then slowly she dropped her hands.

She couldn't very well keep her modesty and wash Arya at the same time. Plus, "_What would he care?_" Shireen thought. It wasn't as if Jojen would be looking. It wasn't as if any man had ever looked more than twice in her direction.

"I'm ready," she announced, as he gently lifted the once beautiful woman, that had wilted into a skeleton, from the bed. Looking down, Jojen felt nauseous. Bones poked out of the skin from starvation, unhealed lesions festered.

That a person could do this to anyone was unthinkable.

Turning towards the tub, he could feel his face flush as he averted his eyes. The white cotton of her small clothes clung tight and transparent against her breasts, leaving little to the imagination. But Shireen seemed oblivious as she reached for Jeyne, pulling her back against her front, much like two lovers in a bath.

"The cloth please," she requested, sliding her arms around Jeyne, resting her head on her shoulder as she massaged lavender oil and soap into her patchy hair.

Crouched by the tub, he wiped sweat from his forehead and dipped his hands in the water, scrubbing the broken toes of her left foot, up her leg.

He should left for the Barrowlands earlier. He shouldn't have been so craven. How long had she waited in that dark room for him?

As they bathed her, Shireen began whispering all manner of comforting things to the sleeping body: stories she'd heard as a child, where she'd been, people she'd seen, nothing that mattered. Nothing that made sense, other than periodically soothing, "You're home now, Arya. You're home."

It was private, her gibberish, meant for Jeyne's comfort, even if she was unaware. Or maybe it was just for Shireen's sanity. But shamelessly Jojen listen, finding himself comforted, lulled even.

By the time they'd finished, he felt a strong desire to lay his head against Shireen's chest, listen to her soft murmurings and allow her to convince him that everything could be right in the world.

Quickly he shrugged it off.

Carefully placing "Arya" back into her bed, Shireen pulled the heavy blankets and fur up to her chin, "I promised," her teeth chattered. Standing in a wet pair of small clothes and nothing else, she'd not bothered to cover herself or even notice that she was naked.

Minutes before her state of undress seemed unimportant, even unnatural. Now Jojen could feel the heat rising again to his face.

"You're cold." Wrapping fur around the small woman's shoulders, he turned to leave and find himself a dry tunic when Shireen grabbed him. Pulling at him hard, she hugged him like he was the last person she'd ever see.

"Thank you, Jojen Reed."

"For what?"

When her dark head popped out of his chest and pale blue, blood shot eyes looked up at him, he felt a strange twinge tugging at something inside him.

"Caring enough to not let me die like that."

* * *

**Arya**

"The children…." Sansa's voice broke the heavy silence that had settled over the room. Shaking, she averted her eyes from No One as she rose from the ground. Steadying her, Brienne Tyrion moved to follow when she held out her hand, discouraging it, leaving them both with Arya and the body, forcing him to gather his senses.

"The body," he swallowed, "Brienne, come with me. We have to do something with the body."

Still on bended knee, Brienne looked up at Tryion and then to No One.

"We need to speak of this."

"The body, Brienne," Tyrion, repeated hastily. "Let Lady Arya dress herself."

Another glance of knowing passed between Brienne and Arya before she begrudgingly followed him.

Watching as, one by one, in shock, they left her, their voices growing silent down the hall.

It was a secret no longer.

Stepping over the body, Arya closed the solar door, then glance at the wash basin. The pink water was now cold, but it didn't matter.

Crawling back into the tub, her limbs sunk under the chilled surface, causing her to stifle a shiver, while she washed him from her body and hair.

Closing her eyes, No One finally fully submerged her head in the bath of blood.

"_Valar morghulis."_

Reddish opaque drops dripped off her face as she came up for air.

Baptized in death.

Tying her hair back, she quickly secured Ice to her back. Looking through the slats that covered the window, she could see the sky growing pale with impeding day.

It was time to leave and quickly, before the three could come to their senses and wish to discuss otherwise.

Stepping towards the body, she bent to look at it one last time.

It was hardly noticeable, but the sleeve of her tunic swayed slightly, slacking from her wrist: a faint breeze blowing through the room, a shift in the air. Without hesitation she whipped around, Needle pointed at the visitor's throat.

A thick Braavosi accent, greeted her, "Hello, No One."

She hadn't seen Jaqen for close to two years. But nothing had changed. He was ageless. Looking down, she could see his blade hovering precariously close to her abdomen.

"So welcoming…?"

"You'll have to excuse me, I tire of unannounced callers," she answered dryly.

Part of her wish to drop her sword; embrace her friend, but they both knew his visit wasn't friendly.

Two years, she was sure the day she left the dock in Bravos she'd never see him again and now he appeared from thin air not an hour past an attack from a brother in the guild.

"You've had company?" He looked down at her dead companion.

"It would appear." Her blade pressed a little closer to his neck, as she challenged, "You've come for visit as well?"

Although Jaqen smiled, she could feel the tip of his sword inching above her navel. Strange, how even tense, the encounter felt nostalgic of nights spent sparring in the House of Black and White. "I came to give you options."

Arya laughed, "Interesting, since when have the Faceless Men ever offered options?"

"Since I've been contracted to kill my own."

"Who?"

Withdrawing the tip of his blade, he looked to the fallen brother, "He won't be the last."

Undeterred by his slight surrender, she tightened her grip on Needle, pushing it further against Jaqen's skin, past what would be considered polite, even in their trade.

"Who made the offering?"

"Two were made. One for your return to King's Landing and another for your life."

Scanning the room, the window still remained closed. How had he entered the room without her noticing? How could she have continued to be so lax? For a year she'd lived with false security, dulling her instincts. Traveling with Sansa and the children, dealing with the Lannisters… and It, had driven her to the brink of exhaustion. She was losing it.

"You've not come for the first?"

"The council decided it to be insult. The second, a legitimate offering, but," he pointed to her belly, "Only one life has been given to the Red God. This is two."

Irritation, rattled No One. He'd been there the entire time. He'd seen her bath and dress. There was no other way he could have known- unless he'd been following them.

How long? Had it been since Storm's End or the Goldenroad? Why had she not sensed him before? She cursed herself again. Her carelessness would soon get her, Rickon and Sansa killed.

"Who has made these offerings?"

"The return, the King, the other, I cannot reveal. Only the council knows," he answered nonchalantly.

Aegon had hired the Faceless Men? What a fool. Only someone truly naïve or desperate would bargain with the guild, for both the price and outcome. They'd never just return her. They weren't trained pets that could be plied with gifts to fetch.

Regardless of her husband's stupidity, Jaqen knew about the contract for her death, which meant, he'd been here when her visitor had attacked. If he'd come as a friend, he'd have jumped to her aide. But the Faceless Men didn't train friends. They trained killers.

He'd come to make sure the job was finish or to do it himself.

"Then must I kill you as well?"

"No."

"_Liar_," she wanted to snicker, but instead settled for, "Then why do you come?"

"No brother should be kept as a slave."

"I'm no longer a Faceless Man."

He paused for a moment and in an effort to dispel her suspicions, dropped his blade completely, resting it against the stone.

"A life has been offered and a life has been taken. All is equal."

His act of good will, although not lost on No One, was not convincing enough for her to drop her own weapon. "I doubt the council will see it the same."

"Then what is your plan?"

"I'll be fine on my own."

"For now," motioning to her belly, he continued, "but not for long."

The sun was now peaking through the shutters, dancing across the floor. She needed to hurry. Soon the Lannisters would be back. "Why have you come?"

"To complete the task."

No one reached behind, pulling Ice off her back, until both blades were pointed in his direction, waiting for his first move. However, she was taken back when Jaqen wrapped his gloved hand around the tip, thwarting her raw aggression, "And I have."

He glanced down at the body then to the door, "Arya Stark killed her assassin, but died as well."

He was offering a trade, a last gift from an old friend: the assassin's life, for her life. A debt paid to the Many Faced God.

"And where will I go?"

Jaqen glanced once more at her belly, "Somewhere that you won't be found while you're weak."

"Why spare me?"

"You always questioned too much."

"You never answered enough."

Pressing both her blades down to the floor, he complied, "I'd rather see you dead than someone's slave."

Aegon's slave, as he saw it. Someone kept where they didn't desire to be. Forced to be in a world of pretty lies, where they couldn't survive: trapped. A life, she'd years ago escaped, along with death, when No One sailed across the Narrow Sea.

"Then why not kill me?"

When his hand reached out to touch her face, she allowed it- a gesture of an old friend, "It would be a shame to kill 'Someone'."

"Then what does this mean?"

"Arya Stark is dead, you, will live."

There was a sharp knock at the door, "My Lady, are you decent?" Tyrion.

"Just a moment," she turned to say something else to Jaqen but he was gone.

As quick as he'd always seem to arrive, he'd left her again. Years ago, giving her life and now, very differently, taking it away.

She was too late. "Yes," she answered at last.

She knew it before they opened the door, that Tyrion was back with Brienne and it had nothing to do with the body. They'd been discussing how to handle the situation with her.

* * *

**Theon**

Dropping the brittle paper into the fire, he watched it crackle and curl into nothing. She was dead. Twenty nine years he'd lived in Asha's shadow, even when she still took to dressing like a woman, even when they were still kids and now she was gone, killed in the Battle of Blackwater during the Baratheon siege.

The Iron Islands could now finally be his. Shouldn't he feel more? Should he not feel relief? He'd refused her when she demanded he follow her into battle. He'd called her a fool, a stupid woman playing in a man's world, trying her hand at a game she shouldn't be playing. A game he sold her into.

Reaching for the poker, his gloved hand shook as it grasped the brass rod, his index finger sticking out pathetically, unable to bend. He jabbed at the weathered logs, until he was furiously stabbing the wood, the muscles in his forearms shaking.

He should have taken the Black. He deserved nothing better than a life in the Night's Watch, pissing isles and dreaming of women he'd never again see. If Balon were still alive, he would have gladly sold Theon to keep Asha. He always preferred her. Everyone did.

Afterward, after he'd traded her to Stannis like a piece of copper, his father might have then respected him, appreciated his callous drive to do whatever necessary. The only problem was that it changed nothing. Even an ocean away, with her skirts flung over her head, she was still more Ironborn than he. Her return drove Euron away and her departure sending him back, like a shark circling at the first sign of blood.

"No stomach for war, boy?"

Waiting for the opportune time to attack.

"Don't like a real fight, with real men? Send your sister to do your bidding?"

"I don't fight wars that aren't mine," Theon commented coldly, turning to greet Euron.

"No fight seems to be yours. Not for the crown, not for your seat in the Islands."

"Why squabble over what is already mine?"

"Yours, in the dungeons of Pyke? I've seen skittish whores put up a better fight."

Leather crackled as Theon balled his hands into fists, squeezing then releasing.

"What do you want old man?"

Middle aged, Euron was still lithe and a great deal more able bodied than Theon. Eyeing his nephew, a crooked smirk spread slowly across his face.

"What's mine."

"Then there's nothing here for you."

"We'll see boy. The Islands need a man, not weakingly, a cripple, that hides behind his sister's skirts."

Theon reached for the blade resting on the mantle, blotches of red skin peeking out from beneath his jerkin, moving like a wave up his neck as he attempted to stifle his rage.

"You'll take care how you address your Lord."

"When I see him, I'll keep that in mind."

This game between them would end soon, the men choosing between the two as they finished it the Ironborn way: salt and blood. Birthright, code of conduct, loyalty, none of the mattered in the Halls of Pyke, nothing he'd learned from ten years in the north while indoctrinated by the Starks, would be useful.

It was either he or Euron, the same as it had been Theon or Asha, pride or Robb. A Stark's notion of Lord or King, he may not be. But a Greyjoy's he was.

* * *

**Arya and Sansa**

"We need to speak."

Tyrion and Brienne exchanged looks between the two of them, unsure how to continue.

"We don't," she curtly replied.

"Arya," Tyrion attempted a smile but failed miserably, the tension of the situation, clearly showing on his face; "Things… things have changed."

"Nothing has changed."

Looking to the body on the floor he questioned, "Can you tell me there won't be more?"

She didn't answer.

"Who was he?"

"Does it matter now?"

"It might matter when there is no one to save you next time."

"I don't need anyone to save me."

Interjecting, Brienne answered, "He won't be the last, Lady Stark."

"He'll be the last that you see."

After soothing the children, Sansa slipped from the room, head spinning, thoughts jumbled. She wanted her gone, to never see Arya's face again. But when she had her chance she didn't take it. Now she couldn't. Whoever that man was that had found her sister, he had not stumbled upon her by accident. His intentions were clear.

And now so were Arya's. She wished nothing more than to get as far away from King's Landing, Westeros, as possible and although Sansa may not know why, she understood her new found urgency. Not too many more months and a loose fitting tunic would not hide her secret. Then, whatever reasons had caused Arya to flee her husband, Jon, King's Landing would surely not be far behind.

She should let her die; suffer without aide, same as Arya must have Gendry. But she couldn't. Beyond marriage and motherhood, the ties of family still held strong.

Family. Duty. Honor.

With every step she took forward, everything in her burned to turn back in bitterness. Listening to their hushed, arguing, voices, as she walked down the long hall to the door, she could make out Arya's ardent refusals to stay.

"Neither will you," Sansa answered, entering the room. "You're right, nothing has changed. We are departing as soon as a ship is provided and weather permits," making eye contact with Arya, she firmly noted, "All of us, will be leaving."

It should have been her protecting Arya, but she'd never saved her sister. Sansa had always been concerned with getting what she wanted. And then Arya disappeared, before Sansa even realized what was happening. Now she'd never have the chance again. Arya Stark was dead, gone and never returning. But her child was not. Even part Targaryen, it was half Stark.

"Family. Duty. Honor." She repeated to herself again, before continuing, "Tyrion is right. You won't be able to survive alone, not in this condition. If you want to die, that's fine. But that child," she pointed to her belly, "Is a Stark and it won't die because of your idiocy."

"It's not a Stark. This thing is nothing."

"It's a Stark…. You're coming North with the children and me, until it is your time and afterward… I don't care where you go."

* * *

**Bran**

There were whispers of her name were everywhere.

Arya.

As soon as Jojen and Shireen passed through Winterfell's gates carrying the dying woman, word of her appearance spread through the castle like wild fire.

"We need to stop the gossip," Meera insisted, hovering over him as he read. "Before the Mad King comes here himself, burning everything in sight to get her back."

"Calm, Meera," Bran soothed, as he reached up for her hand while he read.

"Is she your sister, Bran?"

The woman that Jojen had brought back with him from the Barrowlands may have once resembled Arya, but now only was so broken she barely resembled a human being.

"She's going to die, Bran."

Meera's voice faded into the background as he continued reading the hasty letter sent in the early hours of morning from Lannisport, arriving that evening in Winterfell. The women, his sisters, had been attacked. No, rather Arya had been attacked. An assassin sent- Tyrion guessing a Faceless Man.

Setting down the letter, he sighed. Why did Arya not write herself?

If the Faceless Men had failed once, they'd try again. Meaning Arya would likely be hunted until they succeeded.

As if to address his immediate concern, Tyrion's letter went on to announce their decision. Arya was dead. They'd fake her death.

"And hopefully she will find peace in it, that as alluded her for so long," he answered, Meera, at last.

Next to his brief letters from Tyrion sat a stack he'd continued to receive from the Southern King, questioning Arya's whereabouts, Bran's knowledge.

Wolves howled in the distance, their calling no longer quite as comforting as it once was.

Maybe through death, this was the only way. She should have listened to him. He should have listened to her. Mayhaps he should have let her and Jon live in peace, held his tongue?

Bran's clammy hand passed over his face, rubbing at his tired eyes.

He'd never know now.

"Who is she, Bran?"

Wheeling himself to the fire in the hearth, he deposited Tyrion's stack into the flames and answered, "Arya Targaryen, Meera. The woman Jojen brought through the gates of Winterfell is Arya and no one will know different."

"Then you best go say goodbye to your sister. She won't make to morning."

* * *

**Aegon and Jon **

They stood among the men outside the gates, the King's Guard, every lingering soldier, filtering through the throngs of bodies that lay scattered for miles: the casualties too great to count.

Dornish and other southern troops dug through the piles of dead, looking for their friends.

"No, you can't!" From the corner of his eye Jon watched the young man fighting with a guard, pulling at an arm from the dead heaped on top of each other.

"Let me have him. His family would want him!" He pulled harder, struggling against the massive weight on top of his friend.

"Leave him be, boy. There is nothing you can do now."

"You can't burn him! You can't. His mother... she..." the boy was temporarily mad with grief, his grimy hands yanking at the decaying fresh.

Gently the soldier tried again, "You'll not be getting him home to his mother. The body won't make the trip."

"I have to try," he sputtered frantically, as men lit the heap.

"No," the guard urged, pulling the young man back while flames spread across the mass of flesh. "We have to, they're rotting. There are too many, they can't all be buried," he explained, as the boy dropped to his knees watching his friend, along with brothers, fathers, lovers and husbands go up in smoke.

He couldn't have been more than five and ten, around the same age of Jon when he first learned of the finality of death at the Wall.

Closing his eyes, Jon turned from the scene. It was one of hundreds happening everywhere. The smell of burning flesh hung so heavy in the air that it had seeped its way into the water, flavored the food and even drink. The ladies of the Keep had taken to wearing veils soaked in oils to prevent from gagging.

The war wasn't over, wouldn't be for weeks as death, as its effects and smells lingered in the southern lands and King's Landing.

"How long have you been here?"

Aegon looked just as grimy as himself, shielding his eyes from the heat of both the fire and sun.

"Not long enough..." Jon answered, looking out at the stacks of bodies that sprawled for more than a hundred yards.

They had withstood the siege, but no one had won.

"I went to see Stannis."

Lifting the ladle from the water pale, Jon he swished the foul tasting liquid around before spitting on the ground. "Why?"

"I couldn't sleep." Rubbing his eyes, he continued, "I can't sleep with him here. I want him dead. It's time for us to make a decision."

"Speaking with Stannis Baratheon will not cure that."

"You have no desire to do so?"

Swishing the water around his mouth again, Jon swallowed this time, grimacing, "No. Next time I see him, a blade will be passing through his neck."

Images of the things Stannis had snickered crossed through Aegon mind. "No, he won't die by the sword. I want it to be slow, he'll burn."

If it were anyone else, Jon would protest, insisting that it was unjust and unnecessarily cruel. But for Stannis, he lacked the pains of mercy.

"And the others?" Aegon continued.

Precedent would call for punishment for the houses that rebelled.

"None are left."

"Edmure Tully?"

"Gone."

"Robert Arryn?"

"A boy still," Jon answered, "The leader of his forces, dead."

"Boys grow to be men."

"But until then, they can still be reasoned with."

A long pause passed between them, before Jon questioned, "The Baratheon, Gendry?"

Aegon promised Arya long ago, he'd pardon her sister if there should ever be a need.

"No sign."

Tossing the ladle back into the pail, Jon finished, "He dies too."

"He's your sister's husband."

Sansa was not his sister and even if she were, her husband would not be spared.

"And a craven and traitor."

"No more than the others. Why him and not Arryn or any of the rest of them?"

Wiping sweat from his face, he had a brief image of Gendry, standing in front of him, guilty and dumbfounded when they'd met in Stannis's camp.

"He was there, when she was taken. He was there... he knew and he did not a thing to stop it."

Nothing more needed to be said.

"Should he be alive, it will be only for a short time," Aegon answered.

"And the woman? The priestess?" Jon questioned.

"Burn, but come, let us speak with Dany before we decide further."

* * *

**Gendry and Jorah**

"Two, maybe three more days and we will be there," Jorah concluded looking off into the distance.

Gendry didn't answer. He did care if they ever reached Winterfell. He'd just as soon have had this man leave him weeks ago by the side of the road, to die from the elements.

What was the point in living if a man could never go home?

"Why are you doing this?"

Jorah looked up at the sky again, answering, "The wanders of the north used the stars long before they had maps."

"No- not that," he poked at the fire, "this."

Since coming out of his drug induced stupor close to a week before, Gendry had not bothered to ask the intentions of his traveling companion.

Maybe he didn't ask because it didn't matter. Death by fire, hanging or the blade, it was all the same. He deserved death, nothing less; the means by which they collected his life was irrelevant.

"To go home," Jorah answered.

"And where is home?"

"Bear Island."

Silence passed between the men, Gendry thinking of Sansa and Cat, even Rickon. Wondering if they were okay, hoping they'd forgotten him.

"How long have you been gone?"

"Too long."

Some nights when he closed his eyes, he'd see Sansa, the day before he left. Crying and holding his gift, as he promised her he'd come back. She knew better, as she always did.

"Why did you leave?"

Jorah hesitated for a moment before answering, "Lord Stark, your wife's father, determined it was death or the Wall. I chose neither."

"What did you do to be given such a fate?" To be sent to the Wall a man usually had to commit a horrendous crime. Jorah, didn't look like a rapist, murder or traitor.

"What I had to," he answered cryptically. He'd had never really spoken to anyone about Lynesse Hightower before, only Dany, briefly, once.

Dany, the thought of her was enough to make his stomach turn with regret and longing.

"Was it worth it?" whatever it was that he wasn't willing to elaborate on further.

Was it? To lose everything he owned, be a cast off from his own family. Close to nine years he'd been asking himself that same question and always the same answer.

"Yes, she was worth it," to see the smile on her face, even if it was brief, to know the sound of Daenery's laughter. He'd do it a thousand times over, to please Lynesse or Dany.

An awkward silence followed afterward, neither man knowing how to continue. Finally Gendry answered, "Where did you go? When you couldn't go home?"

"To a place where I was no one, worked as a sellsword until I had the opportunity to come back."

"Why did you not take it?"

"I did, but then things became complicated. Coming home no longer seemed important." He'd have never thought of Bear Island ever again if he could have stayed with her.

"And why was that?"

"Because I thought I'd found home."

"But you didn't?"

Jorah's face solemn as he stared into the fire, remembering when she'd cast him from her, like lowest creature. Forgetting his loyalty, denying his love, "No, I didn't."

It was the first time the men had really talked in days. Strange that a man could travel so long with someone, allow them to tend to their wounds and know hardly a thing about them.

How much they had in common, more than they'd ever know.

"And do you know what waits for you on Bear Island now?" To go home after being gone so long, it would never be the same. Things could never be the same as a man remembers: the smiles never as sweet, the words never as soft.

"My sisters these years have been running our house. My brother... died at the Wall, Dacey... in the service of Robb Stark during the northern rebellion."

"Why go back?" It seemed a strange thing for a man to do, to go back home after he'd been so terribly disgraced.

A grimacing smile shadowed Jorah's face, "You mean after I've been thrown from my lands, shamed my house?" he answered candidly.

Gendry didn't respond, only nodded his head, wondering the same. How could he ever look Sansa in the eyes? How could he ever touch his wife and not see her sister crying?

"To protect what you love, at all costs, is honorable… no matter what anyone may say."

* * *

**Sansa **

Their ship came in two days later. Through a haze of shadows and muffled voices, Rickon couldn't make out exactly what it was that they were saying. But he was sure that she was there. He could feel Sansa's cool hand on his cheek. Her voice whispering, "I won't leave you."

He was too weak to travel. The tea she had given him days before had done nothing to drive down his fever. When dawn broke, his hands were still clammy, his skin the color of ash.

"Is there nothing else you can do for him?"

The Maester looked down at the young boy, "No. He needs to rest and not to be moved. The journey, wherever you've brought him from, it was too hard on him."

"We must leave tonight."

"Not the boy. You take him now and the ship, it will kill him. He needs rest and food. He has not eaten in days. Too much longer and his body will never be able to hold a meal again."

"On the ship… he could rest there."

"No," the old man dabbed the boy's forehead, "the motion, it will upset whatever appetite he may still gain. We've only just now got him to hold water."

Rickon wanted to reach out and touch Sansa, bring her close to keep him warm. He was so cold.

"I won't leave without him."

"I'll bring him," Tyrion answered. "When he recovers, when he can hold food. I'll bring him, I swear it."

"No. We'll wait."

He tried to lift his arm, reach out for her in the dark, so she'd take his hand. Rickon wanted to tell her, "don't go", but the words wouldn't form- his arms too heavy.

"You don't have the time. Soon you'll be meeting winter storms. Any longer and," Tyrion paused, catching himself from mentioning Arya or her condition; "… you don't have the time to wait. You must go now."

"You swear it, that you will bring him to me? You will bring him to Jeyne and me as soon as he is well enough?"

"Yes."

Something wet was falling on his cheek, followed by a hand, "I swear it, we'll be with one another soon," was whispered into his ear.

* * *

**Jaime **

With no word from his men, Jamie Lannister knew that it wasn't over. Petyr Baelish was still out there somewhere, huddled in the shadows, waiting to make his move. All those years he had served in the King's Guard he'd watched the little man, manipulate his way into power. He was cunning and wouldn't be so easily disposed of by anyone.

Jamie was many things, a fool a times, to be sure. But more than anything he was a soldier, trained to be vigilant for any threat waiting to strike. He was careful now, even when it had failed him before, to always follow his instinct. And instinct said to wait.

When Littlefinger resurfaced in King's Landing days into the burnings, the veteran smiled. Littlefinger might have outsmarted his men, but to be sure, he won't win in any war against Jaime.

Standing outside the brothel, he leaned against the shop man's pillar in the middle of the market, kitty corner to Baelish's sanctuary. It had been days and the little weasel had yet to show his face outside in daylight.

He'd considered many a time storming the front doors, ransacking every inch of the stucco building until he produced his rat. But a commotion wouldn't do. Even in the aftermath of war, there would be too many questions.

He'd have to move quickly. Sooner or later, their game of cat and mouse would have to end, with either Baelish dead or Jamie in the mouth of the dragon. Killing him, himself would garner a certain amount of satisfaction, but unfortunately, the deed would have to be left to someone a little more inconspicuous.

"Soon Littlefinger," he smiled, tossing the apple's core onto the street, "I haven't forgotten about you."

He gave the building one last lingering glance before he turned, heading back down the crowded streets, missing the fluttering of shutters in a second story window. In a dimly lit room, Petyr Baelish watched the blonde lion, inspect the building from a far, knowing his intentions.

"It won't be that easy," he answered to no one but himself.

* * *

**Myrcella**

He was dead. Trystane Martell was dead. As the troops began to filter into the lands of Dorne word had come days before that her husband had perished on the field within the first few days of battle. He's body sent home, for burial.

The past few days had been a haze of confusion. Now what? Her husband was dead and who was she now? Years ago, she would have called herself a Baratheon, then later, in secret, a Lannister. Through marriage and friendship she was made a Martell, finally finding a home. Not anymore.

Holding a consolatory letter from her uncle, she read the last few lines over and over: Come home, Marcella. Come back to Casterly Rock.

But Casterly Rock wasn't home. King's Landing had been. And although she had fond memories of her uncle, he didn't feel like family. Tommen was family, her mother and Trystane: now all dead.

But she couldn't stay here. Not where around every corner there was a memory of Trystane.

"Have you decided?" Arianne wore the same pained look of sadness as her sister in law.

"Yes."

She may no longer be Martell, but she was still a Lannister- all Lannister. And something called her to Casterly Rock. If she were honest with herself it was ghosts: the ones hiding in the halls of her mother's childhood home, whisper that she would belong.

And it was him. He'd never acknowledge her as his, even though all of Westeros knew it to be true.

She may no longer have a husband, a mother or brothers, but she had a father.

She still belonged somewhere.

* * *

**Rafford**

Jamie Lannister may not have been a hunter but one thing he understood, to get a kill, the predator needed to blend to the prey's natural habitat. Simply, to catch a weasel you'd need to be a weasel. And Jamie knew just the man to fit the bill.

Rafford was hardly useful for any task that required real agility or strength. However, what he lacked in useful talents, he more than made up for false bravado and a mindless ability to carry out orders as directed. With the whore houses packed with drunken, tattered soldiers, Jamie had no doubt Rafford would easily be able to blend in with the rest of the wayward crowd.

"Take off that damn ridiculous coat," he hissed before passing his final instructions, "I want him dead: a limb, finger, ear, for proof."

"Yeah, I understand."

"Don't fail me on this, Rafford."

"My payment?"

"You'll get it when I receive my delivery."

Walking into the brothel, the whole place reeked of pungent perfume, vomit and sweat. Rooms spilled over with clients, causing the girls to be forced to service soldiers in the halls for their coin. He'd purchased a girl, let her coral him into a dimly lit corner before he asked her of employer's whereabouts. When she looked at him strangely, through half lidded eyes, he deposited another dragon between powered white hands and accepted her gratitude.

By the time, Rafford had found the corner room on the second floor, the sun had begun to peak through the half open shutters. Not long and he'd miss his opportunity to attack unnoticed, little did he know he'd been noticed long before he'd slithered down the long hall.

No sooner had he checked for witnesses and slipped inside the room, then was his mouth filling with blood, his body crumbling to the ground.

Toeing his head with the tip of his leather boot, Littlefinger eyed the dead, would be assassin.

"I'm insulted. I would have thought he'd send someone a little more formidable."

Grunting Osmund Kettleback, wiped his blade on his trousers. "Burn him or throw him out to sea?"

"Neither just yet. We're going to send our friend a little gift."

* * *

**Jaime**

Before Jamie Lannister had time to enjoy his noon meal, a ratty young boy was interrupting, "Parcel, My Lord."

Eyeing the package, he produced a gold piece from his pocket, tossing it to the boy after he deposited the crudely shaped box on the table.

"Finally." He'd be able to leave King's Landing, travel back the Casterly Rock and out of this piss ridden city, echoing of Cersei's ghost and memories that seemed like they'd happened only yesterday.

The little bastard may have slipped through his fingers outside Deep Den. Somehow bested both of his men, but finally had fallen prey to his own breed. Steadying the box with his false hand, he slid his blade through the tightly wrapped twine and popped open the lid.

Reaching inside he pulled out a medium sized hand, covered in blonde hairs. Below it a note with a crudely made mockingjay pin, lanced through the paper.

It read:

_Now we both have a spare, courtesy of your footman._

* * *

**Shireen and Bran**

Eight sets of eyes watched as Jeyne Poole took her last breath and then slowly faded away. Three days she survived in Winterfell before she succumbed to the extent of her injuries.

Shireen cried silently, reaching for Jojen's hand, pressing her face into his shoulder, as his arm protectively drew her in. Meera hovered in the corner, unsure what they would do next. Bran was the one who reached for the sheet, pulling it over her face.

"We need to speak..."

In the few days since they had arrived, Bran had yet to explain to Jojen of the severity of the situation. Although he knew both Meera and her brother had their suspicions that the dead woman was not Arya, he'd done nothing to credit their assumptions.

Calmly, addressing the pair in front of him, he started, "Arya Stark was found half dead on the side of the road... attacked by an assassin from The House of Black and White..." he paused as Shireen stirred, turning to him confused, wiping tears from her eyes.

"He left her, assuming she was dead, when she was found by you and Jojen Reed barely alive. In her last conscience words she confirmed her attacker and requested that she be brought to Winterfell to die."

"Why are you lying?"

"Shireen," Jojen warned, "Brandon Stark is your King," looking to his friend, he continued, "and he has told you how things will be."

"Lord Stark is not my King," she answered defiantly, stepping away from Jojen.

"While you are in the North, he will be." Meera seconded.

But Shireen wouldn't be pacified, "Arya Stark was not conscious when we took her from House Dustin. She was not attack by some nameless man. She was tortured, beaten and raped by Ramsay Bolton for longer than any one of us would have survived. And as her brother, King or not, I would expect you to give her the decency of honesty in her death and bring her murderer to justice," her voice shaking by the end of her speech.

"He will be brought to justice. That I promise. But for reasons beyond what you can understand, this is our story."

There were few times in her life that Shireen Baratheon allowed herself to become mad. A life time of living in the shadows, forgotten, had taught her indifference was a much cleaner, less painful emotion. But for some reason, this lie, elicited such a deep rage in her that she wanted to scream at its injustice. However, instead of brashness she opted for coolness, "You're correct. I don't understand why a man would not wish to seek retribution from enemy that has turned his people against him and tortured his sister."

"Ramsay Bolton will soon find the end he deserves but in meantime I wish to retain some dignity for in her death and peace for her husband, what little he may have, in knowing she left this world in as little pain as possible, unviolated." He paused, wheeling his chair away from the bed.

"You must forgive me, but with the passing of Lady and Lord Stark and my late brother, so violently, I suppose I selfishly want to spare my surviving brother and sister from the knowledge that our dear Arya succumbed to a similar fate."

Still unsure what Bran's intention were in lying about the woman's identity and her death, Jojen knew better than to voice his opinions. Instead, reached for Shireen again, answering, "Of course, My King, we understand and agree that this is for the best."

Although Shireen may have some lingering questions herself, Bran's speech seemed to quell her tongue for the moment as finally shook her head in agreement.

Bran offered the woman one last glance, quietly saying goodbye to Arya Stark before he wheeled himself out room and down to his own solar to pen a letter to Tyrion Lannister. Arya Stark was now indeed dead and soon to be buried in the tombs of Winterfell.

What they would do when the Bolton rebellion was put down and both women could leave Bear Island he had no idea. Mayhaps the only comfort he'd be able to offer Arya for the pain he'd caused in the past, for the severing of her and Jon would be anonymity.

It took him near an hour to consider how and what he should say to the southern king, grappling with whether he should write a separate letter to Jon. However, he couldn't find it in himself to lie to his former brother. The sentences wouldn't form, as he had no doubt that this news would be crippling.

"Who is she, Bran?" Meera asked form the doorway.

In the years that they had known one another, Meera had always been so pleasant, optimistic, even when they in the worst of times. But lately, with Ramsay's intermittent attacks and threat always looming on the horizon she'd grown more sullen. The arrival of Jeyne only seemed to worsen his silent state of anxiety.

"What do you mean?"

"We both know that woman is not Arya Stark. We've never lied to one another before; I prefer we don't start now."

For the love that he had for Meera, had always had for her, he wished he could tell her the truth. But the truth was just as dangerous as his mounting stack of lies.

"Do you trust me?"

"As my King or someday my husband?"

"Both."

Fiercely protective of Bran, for years Meera had been more of an older sister than a potential lover. Neither could really pin point when it was that their relationship had changed from a friendship to more. Years in hiding, on the run, had fostered a strange intimacy between them that was only compounded by the uniqueness of their situation, both in age and physical ability. At times, although she loved Bran dearly, she forgot she was no longer his protector and that Bran was now King Brandon Stark and may wish to be hers.

"Yes."

"Then I ask you, do not question me further. The woman that has passed here this evening is Arya Targaryen."

Although he could sense she was not convinced and furthermore still uneasy with situation, he was relieved when she finally answered, "I pray she finds peace."

"As do I," he responded, signing and sealing his message that would soon be ravened to southern king.

"Meera, you understand I'd do anything to protect you, to protect this family, right?"

"As would I for you."

* * *

**Aegon, Jon and Dany**

"No, do not trust the Lannisters."

Jon looked to Dany and Aegon, in complete disbelief of the suggestion.

"I think it's for the best," Varys continued. "Your grace, is it not time to start rebuilding relations?"

The suggestion to nominate a Lannister to the King's council was the last in a series of plans to begin to patch together the ravage remaining six kingdoms.

"Why not the Houses of Dorne or the Tyrells?"

"There is no one left in High Garden. Only Willas, he would never accept."

"The Martells?" Daenerys offered.

"They're not the Lannisters," Varys answered.

"Tyrion Lannister," Aegon suggested.

"You can't be serious, Aegon."

"I was thinking someone else, your Grace."

"The King Slayer," Dany, laughed, "Ridiculous."

Patiently, Varys continued, "You may have won the war, your Grace, but to be forthcoming, not the people."

"What do the Lannisters have to do with the people?" There was something about Varys that Jon didn't trust, something always lurking under the surface of the plump bald man's simpering grin and soft words. He'd told Aegon more than once of his suspicions but his brother seemed unfazed. Always claiming, "_He's been one of the most loyal supporters of our House that there has ever been in court."_

Maybe it was Jon. He'd grown leery over the years of men whom claimed to be loyal, too many times disappointed.

"They have wealth, beyond the coffers of King's Landing or Dragonstone. That money, if persuaded to be borrowed, could be used to rebuild some of what was lost."

The men sat in tensed silence, Aegon contemplating the suggestion.

"Why the King Slayer and not Tyrion?" The Imp was the more intelligent of the two and possibly the only one with a conscience.

"I said a councilman not an advisor." Varys would never be stupid enough to nominate someone to compete for the King's ear. And the little man was nothing if not clever. Although he held no particular grudge against Tyrion, he held no affection either.

"Jaime Lannister is a King Slayer because he is easily manipulated. He's not a thinker, he's a doer. If you want a Lannister, take the beast not the brain."

"Just don't turn you back," Dany warned.

"Would it not be best to foster good relations with their house? Keep your allies close and potential enemies closer?" Another member of the small council offered.

"You're a fool to consider this Aegon." Jon's position clearly noted.

As much as he might agree with Jon's sentiments and Daenerys comments, Varys was right. He always seemed to be right. The war had cost the crown more than what it had. There was reason his grandfather had kept Tywin Lannister close and it had nothing to do with respect.

"I will speak with him."

"And the other?" Varys questioned.

The meeting had lasted hours, as they hammered away at the details of how to move forward. Discussed how they would punish the houses that mutinied and finally decided in the late hours of evening, that Stannis and Melisandre would die publically, before the noon meal tomorrow.

"Fire, not by the blade."

The three dragons looked at each other briefly in agreement.

As the meeting adjourned, the men began filtering from the room, passing the Master of Ravens on their way out.

"Letter, your Grace."

"Aegon, we need to consider this," Dany tried again, with the crowd thinning.

"Who is it from?" Aegon questioned.

"The North, your Grace, urgent business," the man looked around before continuing, "The bird flew throughout the night… died on arrival."

"Thank you."

"Aegon, Jamie Lannister-" she stopped, waiting for the man to leave, "he is not an ally."

Shaking his head as if he was considering her words, he broke the seal, reading the first few lines before the paper crumpled under his grasp.

"Should we not consider a Martell instead? We cannot afford to alienate them further…"

Dropping his head, Aegon let out a soft indescribable noise like nothing she'd ever heard before, stopping her mid argument.

"Aegon, what is it?"

Confused, she watched as he dropped to his knees, the message drifting to the floor.

"Aegon!"

Stooping she uncrinkled the thin parchment, her eyes growing wide with each word she read.

"My Lady, what is it?" The councilmen lingering in the room watched in bewilderment, all eyes on Aegon, whom was eerily quiet.

"Everyone out!"

"My Lady," Varys tried, "Can we not be some aide?"

"I said out! Someone bring Jon, quickly," she barked over her shoulder as she dropped to the ground, pulling Aegon to her. With lingering looks, the men scrambled out of the room.

"Aegon." He was stiff as a board.

"I'm..." there weren't words. Without warning, his fingers dug into her skin, holding so tight that his arms shook as he bruised her.

"I'm sorry, Aegon. I'm..." For minutes he stayed locked in disbelief, before he promptly stopped. Pulling back, he rose from the ground slowly as Jon entered the room.

"Is there something wrong?" Still on the ground, Dany looked from Aegon to Jon; her mouth formed a thin hard line out of anxiety. Aegon looked lost, as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Jon, there's..." she couldn't say it, instead handing him the sheet.

"What is it?" The paper shook in her hands as he took it from her.

"I'm sorry, Jon."

"Aegon... Aegon?" Jon looked to his brother for some type of reassurance or indication but found none as he was completely unresponsive.

Reading the smeared scrawl, time stopped, with the words, "Lady Targaryen was found murdered in the Barrowlands, assassinated by a member of the guild of Faceless Men."

* * *

**Melisandre**

Keys clicked and jingled on the ring as the guard sauntered down the dank narrow dungeon halls. Peering into each dimly lit cell, he stopped before the last one. Separated from the rest, few dared to cross it.

The men fear her, feared her supposed powers.

Garth would have heeded to their sound advice and turned back had he not heard murmuring: slow and steady coming from the cell. It wasn't like the others. It wasn't the nearly consistent moaning or crying that could be heard echoing off of damp stone floors.

It was soft, melodic, like a conversation of song. Looking in both directions, he hesitated for less than a moment before stepping forward, peering into the tiny prison.

Huddled in the corner, she was on her knees, whispering. The words weren't any language he could understand but something about the way she said it made his thoughts go fuzzy, a rush of warmth flooding over his skin, like being lulled into a dream.

He thought to speak, ask her what she was doing, and demand that she stay quiet. But whatever was coming from the red witch's mouth had dulled his tongue and opening his ears.

Mid stream, her head snapped up, dark eyes, chocking all thoughts from his mind.

"Come," she said to him without speaking a word. Beyond his own control, oblivious to his movements Garth stepped closer to the bars, his hands fumbling with the keys on the ring until he found the right one.

Inserting it into the lock, he eyes stayed focused on hers as the cell door popped open and he stepped inside.

"I have plans for you," standing, she walked over to the guard. Stiff as a board he neither blinked nor breathed as she leaned in, continuing her chant into his ear.

Each word sapped his free will until he knew nothing but her and whatever she needed, a slave to any of her commands.

* * *

**You guys are amazing for reading. Happy Thanksgiving! I've already started on the next chapter. Buckle up, a lot is going to happen in the next 3 chapters. **

**Also, I have not forgotten about the White Walkers... they are there. They aren't going anywhere and they will be making an ominous entrance in the future.  
**


	31. Update- AN, answered questions

Hello to all, no sorry this isn't an update, but I promise that is coming. I've gotten quite a few PMs over the past month or so asking/ wondering if I've given up on this story. The answer is **NO**! I couldn't if I wanted to. Stay or Leave freakin, owns my soul.

I am however, in the middle of studying for a huge test at the end of the month and that is why I haven't updated. I look at this story and become so immersed that I don't resurface for long periods.

After I have finished my test, I promise that I will update that week. Projected update: February 1, 2013, lovelies. At that time, I will also post a timeline on my tumblr along with a few other odds and ends for this story.

I would wager that Stay or Leave should be complete by March, before the start of the 3rd season of Game of Thrones. I've said there are 8 chapters left, so that means 2-3 chapters a week in updates. And there is so much still to cover…. I haven't even begun to get into the politics up at the Wall, mixed in with some very interesting developments that will take place next chapter.

**To answer a few questions that have been PMed, emailed to me, or asked in reviews:**

**Tenages:** Don't worry, people will die. I've never once promise that there would be rainbows and gumdrops for every character.

**Elelith**: I'm not revealing the sex of the baby. That one will be a surprise.

**Who hired the faceless man? **That will be revealed next chapter.

**Will Aegon and Margaery live happily ever after? **… false.

**Varys= sneaky**

**Littlefinger = very sneaky**

**Jaime= needs Tyrion, because manipulation on a grand scheme isn't his shtick. **

**What's the point of bring in Theon? **Oh, Theon will become a corner stone of the story.

**Will Gendry pay for his crimes: **… this is a tangled, messy web of feels, right, wrong and… I promise this will be handled in what I deem an appropriate manner. And No, shit shall not be swept under the rug.

**Will Tyrion and Arya reunite and be friends? **Yes, Arya= badass and Tyrion= badass, that friendship was written in the stars.

**Will Nymeria come back**? Yes, at a very key moment.

**Why do I have a bad feeling that Ramsay isn't gone for good? **Because he isn't.

**Will Jon and Arya reunite? **That would be a huge spoiler, but anyone who has talked with me knows my intense love for these two.

**Will Arya and Aegon every reunite? **That would be a huge spoiler, but anyone who has talked with me knows my intense love for these two.

**What about the white walkers? **Insert Plot lines for the next chapters. Yes, they are there and no they do not give two shits and shake that the 7 kingdoms is a pile of burnt ruble. In fact, they'd probably rather prefer that.

**Melisandre?** Woman is like a cat, she's got 9 lives +1, that is all I can say.

**Will Arya have a happy ending? **Do not worry about Arya my lovelies. She is a BAMF and shall prevail.

**Will Dany ever be happy? **Yes, I have a very specific love for Dany as a character and I've been laying the groundwork for her story since chapter 1.

**What is the point in bringing in all these new character? **I do not bring in people just to fill chapters. If they have been mentioned/ I've done a POV of them, they will become important.

**Who wins Jaime or Littlefinger? **Can't tell you, but I so look forward to that battle of wits.

Okay so there you have it. Feb 1st look forward to a nice, long detailed update. Also the timeline will be posted on my tumblr, so we can start to clear up confusion.

Thank you so much for reading. I love you guys!


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